The Mochi Quandary: Amerimochi's Adventures!
by MomotsukiNezumi
Summary: Birth of Mochimerica and how he meets our favorite English gentleman x3 Not written by me, but my friend on dA known as MomotsukiNezumi. I have her permission to post it here, as she does not have an account. You should go check out her page on dA! :D
1. Prologue: A HeroMochiThing Is Born!

**A/N: This story is currently undergoing various corrections and restructuring in grammar, syntax, etc.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything remotely profitable/cool of _Hetalia, _that honor belongs to Mr. Hidekaz Himaruya, who is responsible for blessing this world with the magic of personified nations that make learning history a bit more fun, and far more funny. I also do not own any of the pop cultural references, or the reference later to the lovely Rowling's _Harry Potter _series. **

**I own only the mochi created specifically for this story, that little cutie's definitely worth keeping!**

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><p>It was a warm, slightly muggy day in Osaka, Japan, and the national human personification of the nation itself was busy examining his country's economic status through a tour of the Japanese packaged food industry. Japan had been meaning to examine the working and economic conditions of his country's factories for a while now, but the vast amounts of paperwork (which he privately agreed with Germany were a necessary evil) and his own troubles with recovering from last year's unfortunate series of natural disasters (Japan still got the occasional dizzy spell from the aftereffects of that damn earthquake, and his onsens seemed far more intimidating now after that tsunami...) had kept him from making any visits.<p>

However, this year's newest World Meeting was to be hosted at Japan's country, and in addition to ensuring his house was "spick and span" at least twice over, all possible hurtful or valuable objects moved to temporary storage to prevent any Italian-related accidents (He liked Italy, he truly did, but there was only so many times one could trip and break precious porcelain pottery), and checking that there was plenty of extra rooms for the countries too lazy to fly back home afterwards, he had been put in charge of providing refreshments for his guests. At Italy's...energetic request, some of his land's best known sweets were to be put on display, including "Wagashi" (traditional dessert his people often served with tea, especially those made of mochi, azuki bean paste, and fruits.), "Kakigōri" (a shaved ice dessert flavored with syrup and condensed milk.), and, at America's insistence, at least a half-dozen types of mochi (Japan's quietly personal favorite for the meeting selections, as the multiple flavor offerings would keep most nations happy and well-supplied with sugar-sweet deliciousness.).

Japan, being a modest and early-to-prepare nation, had agreed to the mochi request as he stocked up on the rest of the desserts; after all, it wasn't in his social policy to refuse others something, especially if it was easy to acquire, and he didn't want America and Italy becoming upset at the lack of mochi and giving poor Germany yet another headache to deal with. It would merely cause even more disorganization and chaos amongst the nations.

Then again, Japan hadn't quite understood at first that America, being his usual all-encompassing, madly curious self, had wanted to personally see where his requested treat was made. As Japan was too polite, he could only nod his head when America had come up to his house earlier that morning, blue eyes like a puppy begging for a treat as he asked cheerfully if "Since, I heard about these mochi things from Italy and they sounded cool enough to try, could you could supply us hungry nations with awesome, yummy mochis to snack on; I mean, we need SOMETHING to occupy ourselves with while Germany's being all boring! Plus, I wanna see where the mochi things are made. Take me to the mochi-making place, 'kay, Japan?"

Being too tired at his early awakening, Japan had only been half-awake and thus couldn't form full coherency enough to attempt to refuse and reschedule a time to discuss refreshments at a saner hour. And so Japan, being too polite to refuse, was now bound by verbal agreement to not only supply the mochis, but also take America with him to a mochi processing-and-packaging factory. The poor Asian country could only sigh and, as his friend England would say, "Belt up and get it over with already."

Taking America to a mochi factory, as Japan looked back on it, was probably not a good idea if he had wanted to factory to still be able to be worked in. He had to deal with America's complaints of the summer heat and bugs, the crowded bus with it's hard plastic seats and handles slippery with perspiration from countless citizens' sweaty grips, and the loud, tinny wail of the bus engine (which had given him a slight headache) as they travelled along the rails and roads towards the southern half of his country...and then they had finally arrived. Taking America with him inside the mercifully air-conditioned factory, he had shown their identification and then opened the doors to lead inside one of the mochi conveyor belts, where the wide-eyed visiting nation could see the long belts and metal chutes crammed with brightly packaged boxes of mochi, all in various states of wrapping, unwrapping, being put into boxes, being checked for any deformations, dusted with powdered sugars and sprinkled with shredded coconuts...

It wasn't so bad at first, he reflected: America had actually been rather polite, happily firing off questions about mochi flavors, shapes, and sizes ("Can you get me a hero-sized one, Japan? And can it be hamburger-flavored? Please, please, PLLLEEEAAASSSEE? "), production rate ("How the heck do you guys work so fast, man? Japan, are your people, like, superhuman android machines that live off coffee and ramen or something?"), and even the economic profits of this portion of the Japanese dessert business ("So, how much dough could be made off making these things? I mean, they ARE delicious, they must sell like crazy...").

And then America had to fill his daily "I'm-heroic-enough-to-do-stupid-things" quota...

It had honestly been an accident, that much he knew. But Japan HAD warned the bespectacled nation to stay away from the mixing vat holding the newest batch of freshly made mochi paste. America, however, refused to listen to his warnings of personal safety, claiming "Don't worry, Japan! It'd be too unheroic for me to die by falling into a mochi mixing vat? I, mean, REALLY? Death by mochi paste sounds WAY too dumb!" So the island nation was forced to follow him over to the vat, where he discovered that America (in spite of all regards towards personal safety), was leaning dangerously far over the vat, peering into the gooey white mixture slowly churning away below. With a mad grin on his face, America had leaned in even farther in order to get a closer look at the mochi paste. With a cry of horror, Japan threw his "personal-space" (Meaning I'm not going to touch you unnecessarily) policy to the proverbial winds and grabbed hold of his friend's hand, yanking him back away from the vat.

Unfortunately, America had taken this to mean that Japan wanted him to move over so he could see too, and so he'd pulled the island nation hard toward him, causing Japan to crash into him and make the resulting weight imbalance cause them to fall into the mixing vat. The mixing beater gave a great shudder and groan; the paste bubbled madly as the two sank.

The workers, shocked by what they'd seen, frantically began calling for help, hurriedly shutting off the machines as several of their bolder members began lowering themselves inside to search for the (hopefully) unscrambled nations. But this all stopped as a sudden rumbling came from the vat, then...

BOOM. A harsh shriek of malfunctioning machinery caused the workers to cover their ears and run to the relative safety behind the conveyor belts as the vat's contents exploded violently in a huge splattering of thick whitish-grey paste mix, splashing the walls, the floor, the other machines and windows...not even the workers were spared a soaking, and soon everything in the cavernous room was covered head-to-toe in what could only be described as "white, sticky, goop." The whole place, and the mochi, was ruined.

All of a sudden, there came a loud, slightly obnoxious laugh from the smoking remnants of the mixing vat. "Hahahahahaha! That. Was. AWESOME! Hey Japan, don't make that upset face at me, I didn't do TOO much damage to this place!" The workers peering out from behind their defenses to see two white paste-covered figures walking out of the mixing vat, the taller one supporting the other.

Still, the damage was considered even worse once everyone had gotten outside to assess their physical conditions: not only was everyone now left underpaid or having to take medical leave (the factory's equipment replacement or repairs cost would have to be taken out of their wages, and the explosion had caused several of the nearest workers moderate injuries to their ankles and arms), but the mochi produced had been destroyed. And on top of it all, Japan also had to deal with a complaining, goo-spattered America who was bewilderedly repeating "I didn't think I was THAT bad..." as he tried to explain to the gathered workers.'No, this is certainly not my good day', he thought sadly.

Unbeknownst to Japan, the factory explosion DID make one good thing...one of the few mochi trays that had survived the blast had been hit with a large glob of the "contaminated" mochi paste, the paste which had pulled free several of America's pale gold hairs during the explosion. The paste and hair, still hot from the blast, bubbled and frothed over the half-full mochi tray, mixing and melting into a single wad of soft, grayish white paste about the size of two full packs of playing cards stacked together.

The wad's acquired pieces of hair twisted together, thickening, curving slightly into the familiar shape of the island Nantucket. And as the DNA from the hair assimilated into the jelly-soft, porous paste, the mochi changed further: two slender pieces of hair dropped down from the 'ahoge' (cowlick/Nantucket), falling into place as "eyebrows" over soft indents in the shape of a pair of (almost comically) sweetly large eyes, which thickened over slightly, giving the appearance of eyelids. Eyelids which opened to reveal eyes blue as the sky...which then looked downwards to discover...Alas! No mouth! The almost face looked comically upset at this, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing in apparent frustration as the mochi gave off a sudden look of intense concentration (If this is too much to comprehend, think Germany when he's trying to understand Italy's babblings of pasta~). This paid off, in the form of a thin slit in the middle of the mochi's 'face', which opened slowly wide to reveal a little round cartoon-like mouth, complete with a small strawberry-pink tongue and little white rows of perfect teeth. The mochi tested its newest facial addition by cooing, which delighted it, leading to purring.

(Not to insult anyone possibly reading this, but if you can't picture this, think of drawings of Mochimerica. but with bigger eyes, no glasses, and about 3 sizes smaller. And less obnoxious than the human America.)

Suddenly, there was a great groaning from the ruined vat, and the mochi blinked in alarm, letting out a squeak of fear as it moved away. Or rather, tried to: the poor thing, still getting used to being actually alive and with a sort of body, had been so busy celebrating by purring that it hadn't considered actually trying to move off its tray. That is, until now. With a determination that would make its DNA donator proud, the little Japanese pastry began to hop away, thankfully clearing the vat just before more paste started to fall in huge, heavy gobs.

Slowly, the mochi managed to find its way out of the room, hopping along through the factory as it tried to get out of its ruined birthplace. The shadows scared it, the groans and slimy stuff in the factory room scared it, and it just wanted to get out and find the warm thing outside that just barely filtered through the upper windows, what was that thing...oh right, the sun. The mochi slowly was getting bits and pieces of thought-memories (memory fragments that lacked an actual picture, but had 1 or more of the other senses), and so it knew that it needed to leave this place and find somewhere warm and well-lit so it could see properly, and maybe even figure out a heroic plan of what to do next.

Would the outside world be big and loud and scary? You bet. Full of strange people and dogs that might eat it and cars that might run it over? Of course. But the little mochi was so determined to get outside that it didn't care.

'After all', the mochi thought (yes, the mochi does have some basic insides like brains, otherwise if food was put in its mouth where would it go?), 'I'm American! 'Course I'm gonna be okay!"


	2. Chapter 1: Close Calls and Flight

Once it managed to get outside the factory, the mochi was shocked to find the everything was so bright, bright, bright out, with lots of clouds outside hanging in the sky like some sort of fluffy marshmallow buffet...mmm, marshmallows are good (like bananas!). Slowly the little pastry edged out into the open, big blue eyes wide with childish delight at the gorgeous sky, not looking to be well into the late afternoon period, if the slowly appearing orangish and peach tints were anything to go by. The clouds rolled slowly along by a gentle breeze, and patches of weeds and wild grasses had sprung up alongside the long road parallel to the factory main entrance. The road itself stretched far, far away, until it became a long, chocolate brown ribbon of dirt snaking out into horizon, where the mochi could faintly make out the blurred outlines of a city (Osaka, to be exact.).

The mochi was very bored as it hopped along the road (being an 'American' mochi, much like its creator, it didn't quite grasp the concept of long periods of patience yet...), and so began to try to figure out how to get to the 'blurry place' faster. Luckily for the mochi, the factory it was born in was located on the outskirts of Osaka city's west side, which opened to Osaka Bay (partially blocked from the Pacific Ocean by the Kii Channel and from the nearby western part of the Inland Sea by the Akashi Strait). This allowed for much marine life to be found near the coastal city, including birds of prey to feast on the fish, such as seagulls. Seagulls, as the little white-grey rice cake soon discovered, were both very hungry and helpful.

Blue eyes looked wonderingly at the first of many dark, winged shapes fluttering overhead, darting about in crazed formations in the blue expanse of the sky. Suddenly one darted downwards. Being a mochi, the little white-grey blob was emitting the smell of food (granted, being a mochi with America's DNA, the little fellow smelled a bit like fast food, coffee, leather, and heroism, which was not a very good combination if one wanted to keep their sense of taste intact), and seagulls are hungry enough to not be picky; after all, if they were picky, they would starve.

So when the seagull suddenly seemed much closer than before, the mochi was very confused; what did the funny dark shape things want with it? But then another thought-memory flickered to life: an angry male shouting for 'that stupid bird to GIVE BACK THE FRECH FRY RIGHT NOW!', the screech of triumph from the villainous, feathered fiend, the crunch of salty fast food in an undeserving beak and the man's dramatic wail of misery...and then the sharp 'THUD!' on the man's head as another male voice, this one sharply accented, let out a bark of 'Shut up, you bloody oaf! It's a FRENCH FRY for pete's sake!'

The mochi snapped out of its dazed state as is the 'THUD!' occurred, just in time to realize the gull was less than 3 feet from it, beak wide and beady coal eyes cruel and hungry. With a heroic 'MEEP!' of sudden surprise and fear, the little rice cake jumped up in an attempt to not get snatched up in the narrow orange mouth's grip of death. However, the mochi had not yet realized something else crucial: America's DNA had given it a super boost, allowing it the perform feats of strength, speed, and agility like no mochi had ever done before (Though, being the only animate nation-mochi currently in existence, the little creature didn't know this...)!

As a result, the jump it made to escape death was much more like 'a leap of Prussian-level awesomeness'. The white-grey wad of living mochi paste catapulted itself high into the ear, to the immense shock of the hungry seagull, which had an almost comical look of "What just happened?', before it realized that the mochi, while now airborne, was still potential snack food. So it shot upwards into the sky, wings beating furiously as it attempted again to catch itself a meal. The mochi, which was having the time of its (so far rather short and supposedly impossible) life, looked down slightly and saw the seagull rapidly closing the distance between them. 'Uh-oh!' thought the mochi, 'what do I do now?'

Then it saw the seagull's back, feathery white and just large enough to seat itself on, if it aimed very, very carefully...heroic plan forming in its little head (well, sort of, more like the top of its squishy, roundish body), the mochi took a leap of faith and didn't resist as the seagull approached. But right when the hungry bird  
>was only a beaks worth away from its newest meal, the mochi sprang into action, angling itself so that it fell not into the predator's beak, but right on top of it. For a split second, two sets of eyes, one big and blue, the other small and black, stared into one another as the seagull's small brain attempted to figure out how its food had somehow ended up on top of its beak instead of in its mouth where it belonged.<p>

But alas (at least for the bird), for luck was not favoring the hungry avian today, it was favoring the mochi currently smiling victoriously at it, cowlick bobbing cheerfully in the summer wind. The unfortunate bird was further surprised as the mochi then proceeded to hop over its head and land on its back, eliciting a 'squawk!' as the little rice cake made itself comfortable on the feathery 'seat'. 'Haha! Score one for the American!' thought the mochi.

Angry at itself and its unwanted passenger for the bad luck, the seagull decided attempting to barrel roll to dislodge the mochi, catch it as it fell, and then eat it was a bad idea; even with its hunger hampering its judgment, the bird knew it would not be able to eat the mochi. So, mind made up, the seagull headed towards Osaka city instead, knowing from experience that the scraps, abandoned lunches and snack leftovers, and day-old dumpster leavings were better pickings than trying again to eat its new passenger. Thus the mochi found, to its delight, that not only had it managed to outsmart its 'villainous' avian adversary and hitch a ride on it, but its new method of transportation was taking it right to Osaka!


	3. Chapter 2: Ramen and Rescues

If any of Japan's many citizens had bothered to look overhead that day in the direction of the outskirts near Osaka Bay, they would may have seen a small, rapidly approaching dot on the horizon, which grew slightly to become the blurry outline of a bird, and then eventually became, if you could actually see it, a rather odd sight: a moderately-sized seagull with what could only be described as 'a cross between a scowl worthy of the United bloody Kingdom and a hungry look rather like Italy seeing pasta'. What was most likely the biggest of the 'eye-openers', however, would have to be the seemingly-insane presence of a mochi (with hair and a face, no less!) sitting on the gull's back, apparently laughing. If a citizen was very, very high up on one of Osaka's taller buildings and listened carefully, a tiny "Hahahaha!" might have been heard.

But this was not that case, for it was a hot, humid afternoon and many of Japan's urban population was either working away tediously at their wonderfully air-conditioned offices or homes, or were at school learning kanji and mathematics and swapping the latest gossip, or in many cases, roaming the city streets, malls, and many restaurants, grabbing melon sodas and cold snacks as they tried futilely to ignore the stifling heat.

At any rate, the people of Osaka were blissfully unaware of the oncoming storm; so to speak, in the form of a seagull-riding animate self-proclaimed 'American!' mochi on a mission. To do what, you might ask? Honestly, the little rice cake had no idea, but being heroic had instilled a deep need to try and help others (regardless if the help is even wanted or needed).

Seagulls, on the other hand, were known much less for being heroic and known much more for being constantly hungry scavengers, so the seagull could honestly care less about anything except for the source of the absolutely heavenly smell coming from the ramen stand on the street corner. Steaming bowls of hot noodles, meats, and green onions were being enthusiastically consumed by the customers, but polite table manners prevented any scraps from ending up within easy reach. Frustrated, the hungry bird circled overhead, waiting for someone to drop bits of pork or soba noodles, but to no avail. With a sharp wail of mounting annoyance, the seagull dove downwards, patience waning enough for it to risk crash-landing into bowls of miso-flavored broth.

The mochi, sensing its impromptu flight was nearing its end, looked around frantically for a possible landing place to jump onto before mochi was accidently added to the menu. Spying with the sidewalk a few feet away, the little rice cake took a deep breath (which, in retrospect, was still supposedly useless) and jumped down off its feathered transport system. Surprised by the new lack of weight, the seagull was momentarily distracted from its intended target of a businessman's chopstick-grasped piece of salmon. This distraction would prove to be its downfall, because the seagull, now not looking where it was going, flew into the open ramen stand's kitchen instead, leading to the cook attempting to shoo the pesky bird intruder off the premises with a ladle and wok. "Aiya, why you blasted bird, aru!" came the angered shout. "Why I agreed to cook ramen for some of Japan's people for the day I'll never know, but never, EVER again, aru!"

Meanwhile, the mochi had landed onto the cold cement sidewalk and was now trying to take shelter behind the ramen stand before it became subject to being crushed by the many pairs of feet thundering across the cement as their owners headed towards the various shops and food establishments. Blue eyes peeped out carefully from behind the stand corner as the little rice cake stared in fearful awe at the forest of legs clad in shorts, light pants, and dozens of short skirts in all the colors of the rainbow. However, the mochi soon realized, to its mounting fear, that the enormous crowd of people was trapping it against the wall, and if it tried to move, chances were that it would be literally pounded into the cement by the oncoming hordes of heels, sneakers, Converse, flats, and cosplay footwear.

Looking about desperately for a possible escape route, the mochi rotated in place as it tried to spy a path away from the scary mob of Osakans. A squeak of delight escaped, almost like an "Eureka!'  
>exclamation as it spotted a narrow gap in the crowd, ending in the open door to a huge supermarket. Nantucket stood straight up in response to its newly rekindled determination; a grin threatened to split the mochi's face in two as the little blob made a mad dash towards the supermarket before the path closed completely. Squeaks of surprise and fear erupted from the rapidly hopping mochi as it dodged the high heel of a businesswoman and the sneaker-clad foot of a teen with blue-streaked hair and headphones blaring 'Pub and Go!'. A few near misses later, the mochi made it to the automatic doors.<p>

The automatic doors opened like the neon-white lit portal of an alien spaceship, releasing a blast of cold fog along with it. Coughing and sputtering, the little mochi blinked wide baby blues as it edged into the store. Looking up, it could see huge white aisles towering with brightly packaged goods, dozens of signs suspended overhead bearing arrows pointing in all the directions of the compass and dozens of crisp white kanji, bins full to bursting with fresh vegetables and fruits getting soaks with mist from overhead sprinklers...and everywhere there were people, grabbing juices and packs of noodles and soy sauce and bags of fresh mushrooms and arguing over prices. It was rather overwhelming.

Slowly the little rice cake shuffled forwards, looking about curiously. The mochi could see dozens of packages on the shelves, packs of instant ramen in eye-searingly orange wrapping, plastic covered bowls of pre-cooked soups and canned stews and sauces, containers of spices and ground up herbs, and everywhere were packages of sweets. Boxes of powdered green and orange dango on a stick, stacks of shimmering squares of pink and white coconut ice, packaged mixes for syrups and slushies, and...mochi! The little rice cake's big blue eyes turned comically wide as it stared in shock at its packaged 'brethren'. It had to save them! 'I'll save you!', the mochi thought determinedly. After all, it WAS a hero!


	4. Chapter 3: Accidental Discovery

IT WAS BIG. This was the first thought crossing the mochi's (somehow existing and very American) mind. And why wouldn't the mochi think this? The mochi-laden shelf was very, very large in proportion to the little rice cake (which was currently hiding behind a can of miso broth and a pack of dried mushrooms on the shelf across the aisle.). Not only was it big, it was also long and white and very clean-looking and stacked with dozens of packaged treats: dried seaweed and sesame seeds in neat sealed bags, boxes of coconut-sprinkled marshmallows in pastel colors, brightly colored gummy candies with cartoon packaging patterns, and lots of bags of sugars, syrup mixes, cookies, and coffee candies. A group of tourists were standing to one side of it, passing around a box which apparently contained a home-made genuine sushi-making kit, complete with basic ingredients like dried seaweed rolls, little bottles of soy sauce and fish sauce, and a tiny tin of sesame seeds.

But the mochi's heroic attention wasn't focused on any of these junk foods or the annoying tourists; it was trained upon a large white box in the middle of the topmost shelf. The box was about a foot long and half a foot tall, and decorated on the sides with elegant, curling gold leaf-patterns. A thin rectangle of mocha-and-cream checkers surrounded the transparent rectangle on the front of the box, displaying about 2 dozen mochis (each about palm-size) sprinkled with confectioner's sugar and pressed snugly together. With a squeak of horror, the little rice cake realized that the box had very little space between mochi surface and plastic, meaning that its fellow mochis couldn't breathe! It had to rescue them before they suffocated to death!

But how to do it? There were too many witnesses around (the crowd of tourists had yet to go away), and the shelf was too high up to reach without the aid of a ladder or steps. What to do, what to do...

Suddenly, the mochi saw one of the tourists reaching for the box, apparently examining the nutrition facts, before one of her companions gestured for her to come back and look at the sushi kit; quickly, the box was haphazardly shoved back into the shelves, this time on a shelf several levels down. The mochi couldn't believe its luck. 'Hold on, guys, I'm comin' to rescue you!', the rice cake thought courageously. With this brave thought in mind, it peeked out from behind the can, before looking both ways (still clear, the tourists were still distracted with the sushi kit) and then shuffling over to the edge of the shelf. Looking down, it seemed that the floor (which was in reality was about 3 feet or so below) was a million miles away. Taking a deep breath, the mochi braced itself and then hopped off the ledge onto the floor.

WHAM! The poor dessert shook itself vigorously to get feeling back into its gelatinous body. Looking both ways again, it quickly hopped across towards the shelf, narrowly missing being stepped on by both the cart wheels and the sneaker-clad foot of a passing shopper. Finally, it reached the bottom shelf. Looking upward, it saw the mochi box (in the little creature's mind, an evil prison) only two shelf levels up. Steeling itself for the ascent, it took a deep breath and jumped up as hard as it could. The result was that the mochi, once again, defied all laws of physics as it shot up into the air, just barely managing to grab the shelf edge with its mouth. Slowly, the mochi managed to pull itself up, using its mouth to anchor itself before shifting its weight to swing onto the shelf.

Grinning wildly, the mochi then proceeded to approach the box. Tapping the plastic front with its 'forehead', the mochi waited for a response. When there was no answering plea for help, it decided the plastic must be too thick for it to hear any of the other mochi. With this in mind, the mochi began examining the box, trying to figure out how to open it up and get inside to check if the other mochi were okay. A small, squished left corner came into view; the mochi seized this corner and eagerly tugged. A great 'rip!' was audible as the corner was torn off, leaving a moderate-sized open hole where the corner used to be.

Grinning at its success, the mochi quickly squeezed itself through the hole and started nudging its face against the other mochis, becoming confused as they refused to answer. Trying again did no good; the other mochi were clearly dead, it had been too late to save them. Big blue eyes welled up with tears as the little mochi curled in on itself, wanting something good to happen to help it forget its failure.

Though the little creature didn't know it, Japan would grant its wish.

The Asian nation walked into the supermarket with the faintest of frowns on his face, dark brown eyes automatically spotting the dessert section as he muttered to himself '"If only America-san had been a bit more careful...". Deciding to resign himself to simply buying the mochi for the meeting, he headed towards the sweets, clutching a small plastic bag in one hand, already half-full with pickled plums and a box of white rice.

The mochi, meanwhile, was wallowing in self-pity inside the big white box, wondering why life was so cruel. This wondering came to a stop as Japan spotted the package and saw the label: 'New flavor! Green tea~' Smiling slightly as the mention of tea brought his friend into his thoughts, Japan decided to buy the box as an extra purchase, and send it to England.

Picking the box up, Japan's slender eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he saw the hole made in the corner; examining it more closely, he noticed the rather large mochi located nearest to the open part of the box...the mochi with, he realized with a well-concealed jolt of shock, an 'ahoge' just like America-san! Mind automatically thinking back the event from earlier, he wondered...could it possibly be...but no, that wouldn't be possible, it sounded like something out of one of his people's manga plots...'But then again', he thought, 'Nations shouldn't be able to exist as people, yet here I am. So perhaps this is not so far-fetched. Only one way to find out...'

Gently, he pressed a pale finger through the rip in the box and poked the strange-looking mochi. The result was immediate: the mochi let out a squeak of surprise looked up at him with big blue eyes, cowlick quivering in indignation as it looked at him with an expression he could only describe as pouting.

Japan let a faint grin appear on his face as he realized what was before him: the mochi equivalent of his American idiot friend who had accidently blown up the mochi factory earlier. 'How cute', he thought, 'that America-san was able to actually make something good from that blast. Now, what to do with him?...'

Carefully tucking the box under his arm, he headed to the checkout counter and made his newest purchase. Once outside, Japan ducked into a nearby alley and pulled the top of the box open; the mochi instantly popped up, blue eyes wide as it stared at the island nation who'd "bought" him. "I have a favor to ask you," Japan whispered. The mochi gave him a questioning look. "There is a friend of mine, who doesn't have many friends; I am worried he is getting too lonely, so could I send you to him so you could be his friend?"

For an instant, chocolate brown stared into sky blue as the mochi thought the proposal over..."Okay! I'll do it!", came the sudden childish voice of the little blob in Japan's hold. The Japanese nation smiled slightly; just as he thought, this mochi was very much like the human America. Now he just had to send the little creature to England's house...


	5. Chapter 4: And Then it Goes DING!

The trip to the international postal service office happened rather uneventfully, with Japan carefully shielding the tiny living rice cake from any potential curious eyes by slipping him into the deepest pocket of his long grey jacket and instructing him to be quiet, or else "there will be no trip to my friend's house." With this threat hanging overhead, the mochi was remarkably good throughout the drive.

Upon arrival, the Japanese man was slightly astonished as he stepped through the doors and was promptly yanked into a line to the far left of the room, the man sitting behind the counter not looking up as he asked briskly "Local or foreign?". Taking a moment to blink in surprise, Japan replied quickly "Foreign. Rush delivery to London, England." The man lifted his head for a moment, an expression of "Really? You want me to deliver it to WHERE again?", before a mask of calm, businesslike indifference fell into place as he quietly bowed his head and pointed towards a counter at the other end of the room. Nodding in thanks, Japan headed towards the counter, where dozens of boxes in various sizes waited, all plastered with a multitude of stamps and duct tape, stacked haphazardly together nearby four large metal chutes standing in a row. Unlike most post office chutes, Japan was pleased to find that there was a small conveyor belt in each one, allowing each package to be balanced on the belt with even space between them as they descended down to the room below, where they were then carefully sorted according to the chute the came down in: LOCAL or FOREIGN.

Japan quickly grabbed the nearest empty box and then wrote England's home address on the side in moderate-sized, neatly printed kanji, and below this, English: CAUTION: CONTENTS ARE LIVE AND FRAGILE. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO STACK OTHER PACKAGES ON THIS BOX. DELIVER DIRECTLY TO PRINTED ADRESS.

Pulling the box flaps open and stabbing a dozen pencil-eraser-sized holes into the left flap to allow air for the mochi (Did the mochi even need air to breathe?, he later wondered), the island nation took the rice cake into his hands and set him on the side of the counter. Placing the box of treats into the larger box, he lined the remaining space between sweets container and thick cardboard with bubble wrap (after a moment of consideration he had discarded the idea of using packing peanuts for lining, having a feeling that the curious mochi would try to eat it.). The mochi watched him with childish curiosity and anticipation. 'I'm goin' somewhere new! Hero vacation time for me!', it thought happily. 'I can't wait to meet this new guy and be friends. Friends good!

His preparation of the box now finished, Japan took the living rice cake into his hands again and whispered softly, "Now you remember what to do, right mochi-san? Be good friend to him, ok?" The mochi smiled and nodded at him, blue eyes sparkling with the same look Japan had seen on the human America's face many times: the look of determination and glee in the challenge presented by his new 'heroic' mission. The Japanese man smiled slightly as he gently patted the mochi on the top of its tiny body.

"Now remember," he continued softly, "Be nice, and while you're flying to his house, make sure to stay in your box and be quiet as you can until you arrive. Otherwise people will make sure you do not get to my friend's house." The mochi's large eyes widened with horror as it squeaked out loudly, "Nonononononono! I'll be good, promise!" Instinctively Japan made a 'Shh!' gesture at the little creature, head swiveling around to check if anyone had heard the distressed cries of the tiny snack food. The mochi obediently shut up as it realized it needed to be quieter, or else it would never be able to go.

Japan whispered a soft "Gambatte mochi-san!" to the mochi before placing it gently in the box amongst its fellows and closing the flaps, sealing the crack with duct tape. The box was then quickly placed on the conveyor belt leading into the FOREIGN chute, and once it was out of sight, Japan quietly headed out of the building, thoughts wishing good luck to the tiny traveler now officially starting the journey to the United Kingdom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE ENGLISH CHANNEL HAS NOW BEEN CROSSED~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several days later (rush delivery was very useful, as otherwise the journey would have taken at least a week), the mochi (who had been alternating between napping, trying (and failing) to eat the bubble wrap, and trying to guess where its delivery plane was currently flying over) was now considering trying to get out of its box and looking around to see if there were any other passengers aboard to talk to. After several attempts to push its way out of the box and discovering that the duct tape holding the flaps shut was an unbeatable opponent, the mochi settled instead for sulking at the back of the box, wishing fervently that it just could arrive already.

The mochi had its wish granted several long hours later when the plane touched down in the landing zones of Manchester Airport, docking in the section reserved for packages (a place otherwise known as the 'goods terminal'). As the boxes were hauled out and sent into the airport for processing, scanning for potential threats, and delivery, the mochi awoke from its newest nap to discover its cardboard container was currently both moving and somehow giving off the impression of a lack of gravity, thus informing it that it was now off the plane and on its way to be sent to its new friend's house.

The world outside the mochi's box was rather intrusive to it (at least in the mochi's opinion), as its box-within-a-box (Yes, the mochi is experiencing boxception) was poked, prodded, scanned from the outside (leaving the little rice cake experiencing a thought memory involving America muttering something about 'alien abduction mind-scans' and feeling rather uncomfortable afterwards), had its sides read for any messages, and then flipped upside down for the stamp labeling the package with a scarlet 'PASS' in block letters.

The mochi was further discombobulated when the box was then picked up again and passed around through several airport check points by workers manning the carts taking imported goods. After about half an hour or so, the mochi's box was finally past the last checkpoint and passed through a door in the side of the main airport entrance building, leaving behind the terminals and busy flight goers as the package (currently made up of a stamped box with another box inside, this one containing about 2 dozen 'dead' mochis and one 'live' mochi) was transferred into the hands of the waiting delivery man. Once it was shoved into the back, the delivery man started up his truck, and off went the mochi through the streets of Manchester, towards the London Heathrow Airport, in London Borough of Hillingdon, in West London.

The mochi, by now tired, rather hungry, and (understandably) cranky, was then passed, box and all, into the hands of the next delivery man, this time from the Heathrow Airport; the ride was shorter this time, and the mochi was getting steadily drowsier as it felt the delivery truck twist and turn like a snake through the labrynthlike maze of London's streets. Just as it entered the Central London area, the rice cake fell asleep.

Finally, late in the afternoon (which was now rather cloudy), the truck stopped as it entered the long, wide street near the outskirts of Central London, the road running parallel to a single, moderately-sized two-story house of old Victorian design, with a sprawling lawn complete with a slightly crooked, off-white picket fence and dozens of blooming wildflowers spilling out magnificently from several large, circular flowerbeds. There was a line of neatly-trimmed hedges and red roses ringing the outside of the house, which was an old cream color with hints of navy blue and pale gold. A faded, slightly rusty weathercock perched atop the spire of the second-story roof, and there was a little mailbox at the fence gate. Tall, many-boughed trees surrounded the property, branches seeming to cradle the estate in a gentle embrace. A wraparound porch with a wicker rocking chair and tea-table completed the ensemble. In the darkening surroundings, the stained-glass windows seemed lit from within by the golden glow coming from the lights on in the front room.

The air seemed thick with tension, and the deliveryman fought off a shiver of apprehension as he took the box out of the back of the truck and entered through the gate, quickly striding up to the porch, ringing the doorbell, and setting the package down on the 'WELCOME' mat before marching off the property and driving away. The mochi was thus (rather rudely) awoken as the box hit the mat, jostling the sweet contents.

Meanwhile, the spike-haired blonde personification of the United (Bloody) Kingdom was sitting quietly in his kitchen, perched on a chair and sipping a steaming cup of Earl Grey with milk from a chipped blue mug with leaf patterns. Sitting in the man's lap was, if you could actually see it, a small, mint-green bunny rabbit with wings. A 'DING-DONG!' ringing through the house informed the Englishman that he had something on his porch; a sliver of paranoia surfaced as he looked out into the rainy landscape beyond his window and saw the truck hurrying away. England blinked, large eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he tried to understand why he had suddenly been 'delivered' something. 'Why on Earth did that man just hurry away for, it's as if he's afraid of what he just left on the porch...'

Deciding to bring a weapon of sorts with him in case the 'package' was actually dangerous (and if it was, he could either smash it or make it disappear with a spell, no matter what others might say he COULD do magic!), England rummaged through the nearest kitchen drawer and took hold of a rolling pin. 'It's not much', he thought, 'but it will do if I just need to smash the bloody thing.'

Cautiously, he opened up the front door, peering out from behind the wooden frame to see the box left on the 'WELCOME' mat. Acid green eyes peered curiously at the writing on the side as he took in the air holes; as he squatted down to get a closer look, the box suddenly moved.

Startled, England automatically held the rolling pin aloft, poised and ready to hit the box should it try any funny business. But the pin dropped from his hand with the shock brought on when the box (or rather, its contents) spoke up. "Hi!", came the sweet, childlike voice from within the cardboard. "I'm here to be your friend!"

England was not quite sure for a moment which was more shocking, that the box had spoken to him, or that it had spoken to him with the sweet (and for a long time, unheard) voice of colonial-era America. Either way, the personification of the United Kingdom wanted answers, and he wanted them now. So he braced a hand against the doorframe to steady himself as he gingerly picked up the box, carefully carrying it into the house with one hand, the rolling pin then picked up and clutched in the other as he shut the door with a muttered 'Colloportus' to lock up as Flying Mint Bunny lent a helpful paw by shutting the door.

Setting the box on the table, England spoke several diagnostic charms to test for any harmful intent from the contents inside. When nothing showed up as dangerous, England put the rolling pin back in the drawer, exchanging it for a pair of scissors. Carefully, he cut the tape off the top of the box and stood back, Flying Mint Bunny hovering by his shoulders as the top flaps of the box burst open.

England decided, after a moment of consideration, that Tinker Bell must have added some of Neverland's magic mushrooms to spike his tea. After all, he now had a tiny, somehow living mochi that looked like America, of all people, hopping out of the box, looking around for a moment, and then turning to him with a sweet, cheerful smile ('like America did as a child', whispered a voice at the back of his mind) and declaring "Hi, I'm American! Japan sent me here to help; starting today, I'm gonna be your new friend!" 


	6. Chapter 5: Tea Tasting and Cuddling

England stared, dumbstruck, at the edible impossibility currently hopping around on his counter, cheerfully looking about with its big blue eyes as it took in the polished toaster, the ceramic bowl with fresh fruits, the plate with several pieces of (rather burnt) toast, the mug of tea...which apparently interested the mochi, as it hopped over to the still faintly steaming cup and took a sniff of the aroma (despite there being no visible nose on the mochi's sweet face, England could testify that there was an audible sound of the mochi sniffing), before curiosity drove the little creature to take its examinations a step further.

The mochi began nudging the mug in an apparent effort to knock the contents out, to England's surprise and quickly mounting horror.

The Englishman automatically flung his hands out as he stepped closer, intent on blocking the mochi from getting any closer to the precious nectar known as tea. Unfortunately, he was too late, and the mochi (still oblivious to its rather impressive strength) nudged the mug rather eagerly.

BANG! went the cup as it capsized against the counter, the contents, now lukewarm, streaming out onto the hard surface in a small torrent of creamy, pale amber-colored liquid. The mochi approached the spilled drink slowly; England, now resigned to the loss of his tea, wondered idly if the tiny rice cake would like the taste, or if it would have America's taste buds instead.

His ponderings were answered a moment later, as the mochi's little tongue darted out and lapped at the spilt tea like a cat would cream; the taste seemed not to its liking, because a few seconds later the mochi recoiled, a look of absolute, almost childishly indignant disgust on its face as it let out a cry of "Ewww! That tastes icky!"

The blonde nation sighed softly; it appeared that, much like its human look-alike, the mochi had absolutely no refined taste in beverages.

After putting the cup in the sink and finding several paper towels to wipe the mess up, England turned to the mochi and asked, "So, why are you here? Did someone send you here as a prank or something?" The mochi leaned slightly left, somehow giving the impression of cocking its (nonexistent) head as it replied in bewilderment, "I was sent to be your friend, 'member? Japan sent me here in a box!"

Blinking several times as this statement was processed, the Briton's acid green gaze locked on the box left on the other side of the counter, where he looked inside to find the box of green-tea mochi. A single, large eyebrow rose in silent questioning as he turned to the mochi, gesturing to the box as if the ask 'Why?'.

The mochi's blue eyes watered slightly as it remembered its failure to save its box mates. "I couldn't save 'em...", it whispered sadly. England stared at the mochi in surprise; so it tried to save them...and couldn't. Poor, naive little mochi. Rubbing the back of his neck uneasily, England walked over the mochi, and, after a moment of contemplation, picked it up and cradled it against his chest, gently patting the top of the grayish-white blob in an attempt to soothe its sorrows. To comfort another when sad was, after all, the 'gentlemanly' thing to do.

The mochi could feel its sadness vanishing bit by bit as it was lifted, to its great surprise, into a pair of warm arms and hugged. The rice cake purred softly as it relaxed against the British nation's body, listening to the steady heartbeat (though it wasn't sure what the heartbeat was, the mochi found it somehow soothing). Within moments, the little blob felt its eyes drooping with drowsiness; sleep quickly found it.

England was pleasantly surprised to see his 'comforting' had worked, and smiled slightly to see the mochi, now peacefully sleeping, in his arms. The sight, combined with the recent strangeness of his new 'guest', made him feel rather tired. Heading off to his bedroom as he felt the first stirrings of sleep in his bones, England set the mochi on his bed as he went to the bathroom to change into pajamas and brush his teeth. A few minutes later, he came over to his bed and placed the mochi on the pillow on the right side, before climbing onto the left side and letting sleep overtake him.


	7. Chapter 6: England's Hair is Nestable

When the sunlight began filtering in through the windowpanes of the bay window over his bed, England slowly awoke from his unusually pleasant sleep to find something soft, and squishy, and America-like on the pillow beside him. Naturally, like any person does upon finding something (or someone) in their bed when they wake up after a very eventful time, the island nation's eyes widened as he let out a scream of surprise, falling off the left side of the bed in shock.

However, England's yelling had woken up the little mochi sleeping on the pillow, and upon hearing it, the little rice cake had immediately thought its new friend was in danger. Thus, with Nantucket standing bravely at attention and blue eyes wide with heroic enthusiasm, the tiny blob had sprung into action...quite literally. The mochi hopped off its temporary "bed" pillow, frantically looking about the room when it saw England was not on his side of the bed. Emitting a squeak of righteous concern, the mochi began searching the bed in earnest, squeezing itself under the pillows and burrowing under the quilts, whimpering slightly as no England came into view.

The poor creature's fears for England, however, were thankfully unneeded, as the island nation was merely suffering from his sudden rough landing on the polished wood floor, and trying to detangle himself from the mess of blankets he'd got caught around his legs when he'd fallen. Attempts to free his legs were stopped, however, upon hearing the soft cries of distress coming from underneath his pillow. Automatically, memories of last night flooded the Briton's mind: the sudden box-within-a-box delivery, the panicking and near use of the rolling pin, the surprise when he opened up the package and literally discovered he'd gotten a friend in the mail in the form of one sweet, innocent, cheerful mochi-blob with the features of his former colony, but none of the somewhat annoying habits of whining about his food or his apparent grumpiness...

The same mochi which was now sniffling and whimpering under his pillow. Sighing, England finally pulled his legs free of the blankets and hauled himself onto the bed, pulling the pillow away to reveal a tearful mochi.

The little rice cake curled in on itself further, wishing that its new friend hadn't disappeared. What if he'd been poisoned by that funny, icky-smelling drink from last night? What if he had been kidnapped or was dead in a ditch somewhere, his bushy eyebrows never to be seen again? What if he-?

The mochi's rather depressed train of thought came to an abrupt halt as the pillow it had been sulking under suddenly was lifted up, seeming to vanish into the (somehow heavenly-looking) morning light streaming in through the bedroom window. Blinking to adjust its eyes to the sudden incoming light, the rice cake looked up to see, to its surprise and great delight, England.

"YAY! New friend isn't dead!" the mochi shouted happily. With these quickly brightening words, the mochi jumped up at its "new friend" to give him a...'what was it?', the mochi thought as it jumped. The memory of the night before, where the Briton had taken the mochi into his arms and held it close to comfort it...the mochi decided that this action (a conveniently appearing thought-memory told it that this was a 'hug') should be returned; after all, if England could hug it, it could hug him too. (The fact that it could then listen to the odd, but somehow soothing sound of the Briton's heartbeat was an added bonus.)

England, on the other hand, was unaware of the mochi's thought process and train of 'hero-logic', and thus was a bit unprepared for his newest housemate to suddenly defy gravity by jumping at him. "HUG TIME!" the little creature chirruped happily, as it began to descend.

There was only one problem with the mochi's plan to give England a than-you hug: its immense American strength (which it was still blissfully unaware of) gave it a super boost when it came to physical activity of any kind, or in this case, surprise hugs. So when the mochi jumped at the Englishman, it jumped too high, so that instead of landing on the Briton's mint-pajama-clad chest, it ended up a bit farther upwards: on his head, or, to be more specific, in the sleep-tousled, sandy-blonde mop of England's hair.

The mochi pouted slightly, as it hadn't achieved getting to its intended target, but soon decided, after a moment of consideration and 'circling' (moving in a circle rather like a sleepy puppy), that the island nation's hair, despite being so deceptively spiky, was actually just as good (and wonderfully soft). "Like this soft stuff..." the little rice cake cooed softly, gently nuzzling its new 'bed' as it settled in for a nice nap.

England, meanwhile, was, as one might put it, "going spare." Though he had taken the pillow off his new housemate so he could console the sobbing creature from whatever was making it so upset, he had no inkling that THIS would happen! As it was, there was little he could do but wave his arms about for balance as he righted himself, so that the imbalance of weight caused by the addition of the mochi on his head wouldn't cause them both to fall over. Even if he was a tad annoyed at the cause for the sudden weight on his head, he couldn't find it in himself to get very angry at the little thing, not really. It was really just too cute and sweet to be mad at.

Muttering a soft "Why me?" to the heavens, the sandy-blonde sighed as he reached for the mochi sitting atop his head, intending to take his "temporary hat" off so that he could give it a stern talking to about why it was not supposed to suddenly launch itself at him...even if the weight on his head felt oddly comfortable and warm, and was nuzzling his hair as if it was the best thing since the invention of sweets...

A sudden soft "Mrrrr..." from the vicinity of the top of his head stopped the advancing hands. A few seconds later, he felt the jelly-like blob resting in his hair suddenly relax; with a soft huff of mild frustration, England realized that the mochi had just fallen asleep...and was using his hair as a "nest" of sorts to nap in.

Knowing that to remove his new 'friend' from his messy hair would just cause the little creature more unneeded distress and possible panic, England decided to let the mochi have its way and go make some tea instead; a nice hot cup of Earl Grey with a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar sounded like a good way to calm his shot nerves. Carefully balancing himself for the sake of his sleeping hair-occupant, England quietly made his way downstairs, clutching the spiral stairway railing to keep himself steady.

Upon reaching the kitchen, he bustled about, making the necessary preparations for his morning cup of tea, all the while being ever so careful to make sure the mochi stayed peacefully dreaming. When the kettle was put on and the toaster was stuffed with two fresh slices of rye bread, England sat down in the kitchen chair by the window and looked outside: the endless horizon strung with clouds, looking like clotted cream doused in shadows, the faint, watery shine of the sun that was already being swallowed up by the rolling clouds and morning mists...

"Blast, another dreary day..." he muttered softly. The mochi on his head stirred a bit as he spoke; England's faint frown smoothed back into a small, placid smile as the movement in his hair brought his thoughts back to his rather unusual new 'friend'. "Friends, hmm..." he mused. "Well, at least the little bugger actually seems to like me, and seemed so happy to see me this morning, even jumped on my head and refuses to come down. Didn't insult me, doesn't mind the weather, and doesn't seem to mind anybody else here, if the lack of denials of Flying Mint Bunny's existence is anything to go by...well, ok. Friends then." Almost as if hearing his musings, the mochi let out a soft, sleepy yawn as it blinked from its position atop the Briton's spiky mop.

"Friend drinking icky stuff again?" came the cheerful, albeit rather sleepy quip from the mochi, as it nuzzled his hair again, almost as if saying 'good morning'. England found, to his inward surprise, that he rather liked the feeling of the mochi snuggling against his hair. Sighing slightly in resignation to his hair's new fate, England took a sip of his tea and answered softly, "Yes, I am drinking that "icky stuff", as you so fondly put it. It's a drink made from steeped leaves, hot water, and sometimes added milk and sugar. It's called tea, and I rather like it."

Letting out a soft "Mm hmm" in response, the mochi nuzzled into the sandy-blonde locks again. "Why do you like nuzzling my hair, if I might ask?", the Briton said bewilderedly; no one had ever done such a thing before, after all, as the spiky locks didn't appear very soft at first glance.

Taking a moment to think about the question, the little white-grey blob smiled as it found an answer. "It's 'cause your hair's soft, silly! It's really soft and warm and kinda fuzzy. Can I sleep here?" Blinking in surprise at the apparent 'compliments', England smiled slightly; the mochi really was just so adorable. And it was just for when it was tired, so... "Ok," he replied, "But when I need to wash or dry or comb it, you need to come off my head, alright?"

The mochi giggled softly. "Okay!", it chirruped, as it promptly hopped down from his head, landing on his left shoulder, and began sniffing the full, steaming teacup the Briton held in his hands. "It tastes yucky..." the mochi complained, "but it smells nice." England started in surprise, nearly dropping the cup as he stammered slightly, "It...It smells nice?" The mochi nodded happily; "Yeah, 'cause it smells like you!" it stated cheerfully.

England felt his face turning slightly red in response; the little creature really had no idea that this was the most compliments he had gotten in a long time, and to hear them from this tiny blob that he'd met only yesterday...eyes slightly wet, the island nation set down his tea, got up, and took the (slightly singed) toast out of the toaster, before setting the slices on a china plate. Placing it next to the teacup, he lifted the mochi from his shoulder and gently nudged it towards the warm bread. At the mochi's curious request to try the fruit spreads, raspberry jam and butter was liberally slathered over the toast.

As the clouds rolled over the misty landscape outside the old house, the Englishman sat in his chair, sharing two pieces of toast with a mochi, letting out a soft laugh as the crumb-covered rice cake asked for another piece...as the breakfast things were cleared and the jam and butter wiped from the mochi's face with a scolding to "wipe your mouth, you're covered in jam..", the mochi hopped back onto his head afterwards, assuring England that it was there to stay.


	8. Chapter 7: Memories and Mail

After breakfast (from which England had learned that the mochi preferred raspberry jam and strawberry jam over marmalade, and that it absolutely loved toast with butter with a bit of sugar sprinkled on) and clearing away the dishes, the Briton and the mochi found themselves in the parlor room (or rather, the living room), with the sandy-blonde seated in an overstuffed scarlet armchair with wooden legs and gold trim; the mochi was still curled up atop England's hair.

A large, leather-bound omnibus of "The Lord of the Rings" was cracked open upon England's knees, the well-worn edges traced softly by pale fingers as he was pulled into the exploits of Entwood, the Ent-moot, and the explosive invasion and besiegement of Isengaurd. The rice cake looked down from its feathery-soft perch to regard the book's contents with childish curiosity; every so often, it would ask a question about what was happening in the story, with England answering softly each time, until finally the island nation was reading aloud for the benefit of his tiny edible housemate, much to the delight of the mochi. It found it rather liked its new friend's voice; the accent was soothing and strangely familiar...

Unbidden, the mochi found itself sucked into a thought-memory: this one, however, didn't have the loud voice of before, but the soft, child-like tones of a time long ago. Somehow, though, the mochi knew instinctively that the two voices belonged to the same person. "More, more stories! Another one, please!" came the joyful cry. "Ok, ok, another then..." replied the indulgent tones of who the mochi recognized immediately as England. Laughter rang through the mochi's mind as the memory faded away; the mochi blinked quickly, trying to figure out what it had just seen. Why did it suddenly feel sad? Was this memory something that didn't happen anymore?

Too much pondering, however, seemed to give the little rice cake a 'spaced-out' look, as it suddenly found itself pulled off its soft seat of hair and held at eye-level to the worried gaze of the United Kingdom. "Are you alright?" he asked softly. Giving a soft smile to reassure the Briton, the mochi chirruped back, "Yeah, I'm ok, just...thinking, or remembering. Think it's the second one."

Acid green eyes blinked in confusion. "Where you thinking about something too hard? Because you looked rather vacant for a moment there." For a moment, the mochi was silent, before whispering quietly, "I see things...in my mind sometimes. I think...they're from...that guy that yelled about..."french fries"..I think?" After taking a second to mull this new information over, England tried to understand the "french fries" portion; as he looked at the mochi, he took in the big blue eyes, the familiar voice of long before, the cowlick that stuck straight up just like his former colony's hair did...'Wait, there WAS that time when Prussia dragged us all to the beach, still don't know what he managed to blackmail Germany with to let us skip a meeting...and America DID have his fries stolen by that hungry gull...' Mouth curving upwards slightly in amusement as he remembered America's vicious (lost) tug-of-war over the salty junk food, he turned to the mochi, and everything clicked into place.

This was most definitely colonial-era America in mochi form, at least the earlier version, given that there was no apparent rebelliousness or back-talking, and that there was no whining of 'IGGY!' or requests for hamburgers (so it was certainly not his older self), but the hero-complex was present (thought England noted that the mochi actually acknowledged its limits upon reaching them, and was not constantly proclaiming that it was a hero.), and so was the cute puppy-dog look in those big blue eyes...

He known that the mochi certainly looked like America since the beginning, of course, and acted rather like him as a child, but to find that the mochi even seemed to have (at least some) of America's memories was rather shocking. A thought suddenly occurred to him: did the little creature even have a name? He'd never even asked...

"Um, this is a tad embarrassing, but...are you America-mochi? Or Mochimerica? Or mochi-something-or-the-ther or...well, it's just that I don't think you ever told me your name. What is it?" The mochi looked confused. "What do you mean, name? I'm me!", it answered. "No, no. I mean your NAME. What somebody calls you. Mine, or rather my nation name, is England, just like me human name is Arthur Kirkland. What's yours?"

The mochi's smile drooped slightly. "Don't have name...", it whispered, a tinge of sadness present in its tones. The island nation blinked; no name? 'Well, this won't do at all, poor thing doesn't even have a name...' A sudden thought occurred to him. "Well then, would you like me to name you?", he asked softly. The mochi's big blue eyes widened in surprise and glee as it let out a yell of delight. "YAY! NAME! NAME! NAME!", it shouted cheerfully. England smiled; it really was such an adorable thing.

Studying the mochi before him, England considered possible options. Since the mochi was obviously designed after America himself, should the mochi be called some variation of the title? Should it be name something like a combination of 'America', and its mochi status, like 'Mochimerica', or maybe 'Amerimochi', or perhaps even a human name...? Staring into those eager eyes, so happy with something as simple yet powerful as a name, and he remembered America's human name, Alfred F. Jones; seeing as there already was an 'Alfred', and the little creature was a bit like the younger version of Alfred, why not shorten the name, maybe to something sweet, almost a pet name or nickname, like...

"Alfie." The moment the name left his lips, England found himself turning a bit red. It was almost like he was calling America 'Alfie', except that instead it was the cute mochi version instead of the silly, self-proclaimed 'hero' nation he was somehow still so fond of...'Well, no matter', he decided. 'It's whether or not the mochi likes the name is what counts.'

The mochi, meanwhile, was over the moon at its new title, happily jumping up and down as it chanted "Yay! I'm Alfie! I'm Alfie!", over and over, a smile warm enough to melt the whole of the Arctic on its little face.  
>Eyes widening in surprise, England held up his hands in a gesture for the little rice cake to stop, but as he looked at the mochi's joyous expression, he just couldn't find the heart to disagree. "Well," he said, "Alfie it is then." The mochi, now 'Alfie', suddenly hopped into the Briton's lap, jumping up to nuzzle his face as it chirruped, "Thanks for naming me England!"<p>

A smile appeared on both faces as England held his arms out and hugged the little rice cake, murmuring back a soft, happy "You're welcome."

The happy moment ended several seconds later when a sprinkling of shining dust suddenly floated down onto the Alfie's head, covering it (the mochi decided that, despite the new name, it was STILL a mochi and that was that) in a shimmering, glittering sheen. Bell-like laughter sounded throughout the room, as well as the flutter of wings, the stomping of old boots, and the unmistakable swish of equine hair.

England's magical friends had arrived, apparently drawn to the commotion in the parlor; Alfie soon found its space on England's lap shared by the dainty yet fiery presence of Tinkerbell, while Uni settled down on the floor, head resting on the Briton's feet, while Captain Hook sat on a nearby stool, arguing with Flying Mint Bunny, who, from what the others could figure out, had somehow gotten into the sugar supply in the pantry and ate half the bag, leaving the little flying rabbit VERY hyper.

England sighed happily. It was good to be home...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SEVERAL DAYS LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By now, both nation and snack food had become so accustomed to one another's presence that a routine had formed between them (and that of England's other friends): the day would begin with England waking up with Alfie nuzzling his hair to wake him up. Then, after making the bed, he would go downstairs with the mochi sitting in his hair. The island nation would make a cup of tea and some toast for breakfast, and he and Alfie would share the toast while the magical inhabitants of the house floated around, argued, or, in the case of Flying Mint Bunny, sit on England's lap be petted while keeping a steady stream of chatter up with the mochi who'd commandeered the British nation's hair for the morning.

After breakfast was done, England would take Alfie off his head and leave it to chatter with Flying Mint Bunny in the parlor room while he went upstairs, showered, changed, and brushed his teeth. After that, the day would be spent largely alternating between paperwork, talking, and reading more of 'The Lord of the Rings' aloud for everyone's enjoyment as they all piled around the Briton's overstuffed armchair. On one particularly pleasant morning, England went out with the others on a picnic on the front lawn, complete with lots of sandwiches and cookies, and a huge iced pitcher of fresh, sweet lemonade with a sprig of mint; Alfie had enjoyed hopping about in the sunshine, chasing Flying Mint Bunny and Tinkerbell gleefully about in the wildflowers growing in the flowerbeds. By the end of the day everyone would head off to their sleeping arrangements, and then the next morning the cycle would start up again.

This went on for several rather pleasant days, until one morning England went out to go collect the mail and found a crisp white envelope in the mailbox, with the address stating it was from Japan. The letter inside read in neat black scrawl:  
>Dear England,<br>How are you and your new 'friend' faring? I hope you are enjoying this creature's company; it is truly an amazement to behold. Since you are most likely wondering where your new companion came from, I will answer your questions: there was an accident involving food being made, and America-san being curious about the mochi-making process at a processing plant in my country. My theory is that America-san's DNA somehow got mixed with the mochi paste during the accident, and thus your mochi was made. As for the main reason I have sent this letter, it is as follows: due to the...unfortunate accident, the meeting has been postponed for several days as damage is assessed and repairs are made. However, due to the rescheduling, Germany-san is rather upset at the abrupt change in plans, and instead has made for the World Meeting date to now be about a week and two days from the original date. I am sorry for the sudden change, and hope it doesn't affect you negatively in any way. I hope to see you, and your new friend, at the meeting.  
>Best wishes,<br>Japan  
>P.S. Have you named the mochi yet? If so, please inform me of its new title. I am most anxious to know how it is doing.<p>

England's eyes widened as he read the letter. The letter provided him with the basic background on Alfie, which was good, but...the next meeting was only a week and two days from now? But if his new housemate arrived only four days ago, and it took about three days to send anything from Japan's country to his own by rush mail, so that meant...quickly calculating the date differences in his head, he realized with a jolt of surprise that the meeting was only two days away, and he hadn't even made any preparations!

Swearing blue and green at his own carelessness, the island nation hurtled back into the house, ascended the stairs two at a time, and yanked his bedroom door open. Without pause, he pulled open his chest of drawers and began hurriedly pulling out clothing for his time away, berating himself furiously at his lack of preparations. "Bloody stupid date change, why on earth did the stupid meeting have to be only two days away...why couldn't the letter have arrived sooner, it would've given me more time to pack!" Glaring at the open suitcase he'd dragged out from under his bed as if it was the cause of his misfortune, England swore again as he realized he couldn't find his mochi friend. "Alfie!," he called out, "Alfie, where are you?"

There was a muffled sound coming from the long-sleeved tan trench coat he'd flung on the bed in his haste to find more socks; England flushed slightly in embarrassment as he become conscious of the fact that the wriggling lump underneath the coat could only be his mochi, which he'd accidently buried under the haphazardly flung clothing. "Oh dear...", he muttered, hurrying over to the bed and pulling the coat of the mochi. The rice cake in question giggled happily; "Yay! You found me!", it shouted, before promptly flinging itself at the Briton and landing, point blank, on his chest. England, by now used to the random flying hugs he would receive from his cuddly housemate, automatically caught the mochi in his arms and held it close.

Alfie stared around the room from his vantage point in the Briton's arms, spying the scattered clothing and open suitcase. Turning around to look at its sandy-blonde friend, Alfie asked curiously, "Why so many clothes? We going on a trip?" England nodded, answering "Yes, something like that. We're, or rather, I am going to a World Meeting. It's an event where nations come together to talk about important things affecting the world, only...well, we don't usually get much done, since we all fight like a bunch of upset children, even thought some of us are over 500 years old, or even older." Blue eyes widened with surprise as Alfie stared in awe at the British nation. "Really? And you go too? Cool!..But, if you fight all the time, what happens to the stuff you talk about?" England sighed; "It's complicated, sweetie. We go because we have to, not because we particularly WANT to; the world expects us to be there. Even if I do get bothered by that stupid pervy surrender-monkey of a Frenchman..."

The mochi nodded understandingly; it could tell, just from the expression on its friend's face, that these 'World Meetings' were absolutely useless, and that the 'Frenchman' was a definite evil. "...But, I can come too, right? I can't leave you to face these Meetings things all alone!" England's mouth curved upwards into a small smile as he considered his options: one, leave Alfie with his magical friends here and let the poor thing sulk at being away from him, or...let Alfie come along. The mochi was certainly small enough to be smuggled aboard the plane and into the country in a suitcase or satchel if he left it partially unzipped, and he knew from the times when it napped with Flying Mint Bunny in the pool of sunlight hitting his parlor room armchair that the little rice cake could be quiet when it slept. It WAS only one meeting after all, surely it would be fine, and he COULD use some form of semi-intelligent company...

"Ok, you can come. Just be careful, and don't make any noise when we're flying to Japan's house, ok? I don't want anyone finding you and taking you away for experimental testing or something." The mochi shouted "YAY!", quickly nuzzling England's shoulder as it hopped upwards back onto his head to celebrate by taking a nice nap. England smiled slightly at the cute actions, before he looked at his scattered suitcase things, and began to pack; he would have to purchase tickets later that night. Tomorrow morning, they would be en route to Japan.


	9. Chapter 8: Bus, Cowardice, Sandwiches

When the sun arose the next day (and was quickly partially blocked by the many thick clouds in the sky), the inhabitants of the house awoke with a feeling of anticipation in the air. Uni was running about the downstairs hallway, prancing up and down impatiently; Tinkerbell had fallen off her makeshift 'bed' of handkerchiefs and cotton that she'd constructed in an old birds nest in the hollow of the largest tree on the property, and ended up flying around in a daze for an hour or so, scattering fairy dust all over the house floor when she came inside. Captain Hook, who had arisen early, was sitting in the parlor room with a bottle of gin and singing sea shanties, and Flying Mint Bunny woke up snuggling next to Alfie on the pillow next to England's head.

At about 9 o'clock in the morning, everyone had managed to get up (England had been dive-bombed awake by Alfie, who was sitting atop the back of Flying Mint Bunny) and get dressed, and two suitcases were sitting by the door. Nearby the suitcases was a small satchel of dark chocolate-colored leather with many compartments and pockets (since the top of the satchel housed a rather spacious compartment with an adjustable top flap to allow easy access, it had been deemed the mochi's traveling carrier, and had been cushioned on the inside with the magically-shrunken quilt from the bed upstairs.). England, who was at the kitchen counter, was sipping a cup of tea and recounting some of his pirating days to Alfie, who was happily munching away on a thick piece of buttered toast (it was sharing breakfast with Flying Mint Bunny) and hanging onto every word.

The antique clock on the parlor room mantelpiece suddenly began chiming; all heads turned to see that it was now officially 9 o'clock in the morning. The flight England had booked to Japan's country had been reserved for 10:15, and it took about 45 minutes to an hour to get to the London Heathrow Airport considering the morning traffic, and then another 5 to 10 minutes (if lucky) to get a parking space near the airport. There was also checking into the airport, going through security and depositing the baggage (Alfie would be taken aboard with England in the satchel, considering the bag was small enough to pass the '1 personal item per passenger' policy), and then actually getting settled on the plane...

If they didn't hurry, they would be late, and possibly miss the flight. 'Blast all, of all the days...!', the British nation thought, pulling on his trench coat and hurriedly finishing off his tea. Uni let out a soft whinny of farewell, and Captain Hook waved with his hook from the parlor room. Alfie let out a squeak of horror as it looked at the panicking Englishman and realized they were going to be late; hopping off the counter, it hurried over to the satchel (Tinkerbell, as she waved good-bye, was kind enough to open the top flap for it to get inside) and jumped upwards, quickly shoving itself inside the compartment (Tinkerbell shut the flap), and snuggling into the quilt, nudging it into a sort of nest shape. 'It's not as good as England's hair, but it's still comfy...', it decided. Within a few seconds, the tiny rice cake had fallen asleep, and was now off to dreamland.

England, meanwhile, was checking the suitcases to ensure he had all the clothes, documents, papers, and writing utensils he needed. As he finished up inspecting the last suitcase, he remembered he had yet to make sure Alfie had gotten into the satchel, and quickly pulled to flap open to check; a sweet sight met his acid green gaze. Nestled within the folded up bunches of a patchwork quilt (which now resembled a sort of lopsided blanket-bowl) was the peacefully snoozing mochi, letting out soft snores and murmurs every so often as it dreamed. The steady, gently breathing caused the cowlick atop the little whiteish-grey blob to flutter with each inhale and exhale, the quilt fabric becoming slowly messier as the mochi shifted occasionally.

Smiling slightly to himself, the British nation gently closed the flap, shutting it firmly before carefully pulling the satchel on, securing the straps at his shoulders so the satchel wouldn't bounce; it wouldn't do to wake up his friend, after all.

Waving good-bye to his friends as he reminded them again to mind the house during his absence, England got into his car and headed off down the road, starting off the journey to the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~HALF AN HOUR OF TRAFFIC LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been only 30 minutes since they'd left, and England was already wishing to turn around and go back.  
>The morning traffic in Central London was terrible this morning, with several traffic accidents blocking the road he was currently on (though on the bright side, no one was dead, and the injured were in a nearby hospital), and the car he was driving was boxed in between two double-decker buses, one of which had (in honor of the new tours of the Harry Potter film sets) somehow been painted in the same explosive shade of violent purple as the infamous 'Knight Bus'. The crush of noise around his car had both given the personification of the United Kingdom an increasing headache, and caused him to put up a silencing spell around the inside of the car so that the noise wouldn't wake up Alfie.<p>

As the steady stream of traffic grew to a great river of clogged cars, buses, and motorcycles, England began to fervently wish to turn around and go home, but, as a nation, it was his duty to go to the meetings, and that meant getting to the airport. However, since there seemed to be no end to the huge blockade of vehicles, the sandy-blonde wondered if he might be able to enlist some 'magic' to aid in getting to their destination faster.

Looking at the 'Knight Bus' next to his car, England was suddenly struck with a crazy, mad, wonderful idea.

~~~~~~~~~5 MINUTES AND 1 ANIMATION & TRANSFIGURATION SPELL LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The newly commandeered 'Knight Bus' was unaware of the Briton's plans for its use until a there was a great 'BANG!' and the whole bus suddenly shuddered, its occupants falling out of their seats from the shaking as they looked about at one another in confusion. The bus doors up front suddenly opened up with a hissing noise, and the bus driver (who had been trying to calm the passengers) looked up in shock to see a sandy-blonde man, looking to be in his early twenties or so and carrying a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, standing on the bus steps with a faint smirk on his face as he said, "So sorry to bother you, but due to recent circumstances beyond my control, I find myself obligated to commandeer your vessel."

The poor driver only got a second to formulate a response before England stepped aboard, turned around to face the bus doors, flung his hand out and shouted "Colloportus!". The doors slammed shut. The Londoners present blinked; surely this stranger wasn't pretending to do magic? The bus may have been done up in imitation of the Knight Bus, but to take it this far...England, meanwhile, had gotten to the dashboard and was waving his hand over it as he chanted rapidly in Latin. The surface began warping itself, twisting into the ensemble of the Knight Bus's additional dashboard buttons and levers. A large red button with the words 'London Heathrow Airport' popped into existence up near the front.

The bus driver, who both refused to believe that his dashboard was being magically mutated and was convinced his newest passenger was crazy, tried to grab him and drag him away from the controls. England, however, merely smiled, before reaching over and pushing the big red button near the front of the dashboard. The result was instantaneous: the bus gave a great shudder, before there was another 'BANG!', and suddenly the bus was mobile, hurtling forwards with such speed that the passengers were forced to grab hold of the ceiling handles, support poles, and each other to keep from flying backwards and hitting the back seats. The British nation laughed maniacally as the bus shot forwards through traffic, weaving in and out of the mess of cars like a snake through grass; some of the younger passengers noticed this, and immediately thought of the actual Knight Bus, which was decidedly as terrifying to ride as was described by the books. If one actually stopped screaming in fear, however, they may have also heard the tiny shrieks of delight coming from England's satchel (the sudden speed increase from the bus had woken up Alfie, who had promptly fallen in love with the insane ride and started laughing just as maniacally as England was.).

About 5 or so heart stopping minutes later, the bus came to a stop in front of the London Heathrow Airport front entrance, the tires smoking faintly from the magical wear and tear; the passengers stumbled out in a daze, several of them laughing just as madly as England had as they gleefully compared the ride to roller coasters, daredevil sports, and the actual Knight Bus, while others were shaking and paler than milk, muttering that the bus, and the man who stole it, was evil. The driver was among these people.

England jumped off the bus and ran towards the terminals, flashing his identification to the registry desk before hurrying through security. Alfie decidedly didn't like this part, as the scanning reminded it of its own trip through security. It hunkered down in the satchel and stayed quiet. The rest of the baggage went through without any issues, save for when the rather large packet of emergency tea was found and checked to ensure that it was actually tea and not drugs in the packets (Being a nation, England got away with bringing along enormous quantities of tea.). When the security officers looked inside the satchel containing Alfie, thankfully they only saw a quilt and what seemed to be a stuffed toy.

Finally, after all was said, done, and prodded with scanners for good measure, the strange duo had gotten onto the plane and were sitting in the back, next to a window. Not wanting to risk the flight attendant confiscating Alfie if she saw the little mochi trying to come out of the satchel to explore, the Briton had told his friend to stay quiet inside its compartment whenever she passed. Drowsy from the hectic events of earlier, the mochi agreed, and settled down for a nap in the quilt-nest.

A few hours into the flight, night time had fallen and the passengers were either engrossed in electronics, talking to one another, asleep and drooling on an unfortunate neighboring shoulder, or watching the horror film that the plane staff had put on. In retrospect, the film had not been chosen by consent of the majority, but in truth because the other films had somehow either disappeared or were ruined due to water being spilled on them by a flight attendant who had lost her grip on a large pitcher of water from the refreshments cart. The horror film was the only one left dry, so it had been screened.

England was glad he was in the back and thus farther away from the largest film screen on the plane, as Alfie (who had gleefully cuddled into the Briton's hair once the lighting had been deemed dark enough that it wouldn't be spotted, or would be thought of as either a lumpy pillow or odd hat) had been proven that it was just as terrified of ghosts as the human America. The little rice cake was quivering atop the Englishman's head, squeaking in fear as it hid its face in the sandy-blonde hair. England sighed softly. 'Silly creature', he thought fondly. 'Just as scared, though it technically has more reason to be scared...'

Indeed, being younger, smaller, and far more vulnerable (since it, after all, had no arms or legs to fight with), Alfie had far more reason to be afraid of the movie...no matter how cheesy the stupid film was. As he absentmindedly patted the mochi to give it some comfort, England noticed the half-eaten rueben sandwich from the supper served earlier, and found himself with a possible distraction.

Gently lifting the mochi from his head, he placed the rice cake on his lap, and then the rueben sandwich in front of it. Confronted with food (which, in proportion to the mochi, also conveniently blocked the its view of the screen), Alfie quickly discerned which subject required more of its heroic attention, so with a quick mutter of "Thanks, England!", it focused all its attention upon the sandwich for the rest of the movie.

England fell asleep soon after, Alfie cuddled up in his arms, listening to the Briton's heartbeat as the hours gave way from night to day.


	10. Chapter 9: Scary Soup and Frogs

When the plane finally touched down in the Narita International Airport (a very useful international airport serving the Greater Tokyo Area, as it handled most of the international passenger traffic to and from Japan), England was jolted awake from a rather good dream (he had made a dish that surpassed France's cooking) by the impact of the landing. Alfie, curled up in his arms, was also suddenly woken up from its dreams (which were full of more of those tasty rueben sandwiches), leading to the little rice cake panicking because it thought the plane had hit something and was now broken.

England, afraid that its panic attack might attract attention (he remembered from the first morning with Alfie that the mochi could be rather loud when upset), promptly covered its mouth with one hand and made a 'Shh!' gesture with the other. Alfie remembered that Japan had also done this to ask for silence, so the mochi obediently quieted down, staring at England with a questioning look in its big blue eyes. To answer the unspoken question of "What just happened?", the island nation picked up the mochi and held it to the window, allowing it to see that the plane had landed at the airport. They had made it to Japan.

"Wow...it's so big!", it whispered softly, taking in the other runway lanes, the huge terminal buildings, the dozens of carts and workers, and the planes taking off into the sky or landing with a great screech of tires. England nodded in response, before letting a soft chuckle escape him when Alfie let out a soft yawn, eyelids drooping in what could only be jet-lag. The Englishman took the satchel out from underneath his seat, opening the top flap and gently placing the mochi inside, dropping a kiss on the top of the tiny blob as he whispered, "I'm going into the airport to get our baggage and check out; then we'll go to the hotel room, I'll put my suitcases away, and then we can walk around for a bit and see the sights, okay?" Alfie let out another yawn before giving a small smile to England, mumbling a sleepy "Okay..." before falling asleep. Tucking some of the soft patchwork fabric around the mochi, England closed the flap and hoisted the satchel onto his shoulders before walking off the plane.

About three-quarters of an hour later, England had managed to locate and retrieve his suitcases (though he had a slight skirmish over his tea packets again, and several packets were actually tested with a provided jug of hot water and some tea cups from the airport's nearest nearby snack shop; by the end of it, he'd lost a quarter of his tea supply, although the company had been very apologetic upon confirming that the packets only contained tea). After quickly checking out of immigration, he hurried through the terminals to escape the oncoming rush of morning flight goers; back in the satchel, the mochi woke every so often, alternating between being lulled to sleep by the rush of muffled voices, and being woken up whenever someone accidently bumped England's sides or shoulders as tourists, businesspeople, and foreign exchange students surged about like the incoming tidal waves of the ocean.

When he finally managed to escape the enormous crush of people and get to Terminal 1's underground train station, the personification of the United Kingdom was forced to blink several times as the hot summer air and bright underground lights hit him like an oncoming truck. Shielding his eyes with one arm, England felt the weight of the satchel on his back shift slightly as Alfie pushed the top flap open a crack, peeping out with wide blue eyes at the huge shuttle buses and crowds of people milling about.

To the rice cake, the bus in front of them looked rather like a huge metal monster, and the automatic doors were the mouth that would swallow them up. Whimpering slightly, the mochi looked at England and whispered softly, "Big loud thing scary...do we hafta go inside? It's gonna eat us, I just know it!" Rolling his eyes at his friend's apparent fear, England gently reached up, quickly patting the top of the mochi as he whispered back soothingly, "Calm yourself; it's only a bus. People use it to travel from place to place faster. We went on one to get to the last airport, and you loved it, remember? It's not going to "eat us", it's just going to let us in so it can carry us to where we want to go. We'll be fine, just trust me, ok?" Alfie stared at the British nation for a moment from the satchel, before nodding and slipping back into its quilts and mumbling a soft, "Ok. I trust you."

Smiling softly, England shut the satchel again, quietly murmured reassurances out of the corner of his mouth as he got onto the bus and sat down in one of the back seats, watching as the train station started disappearing from view and the world outside the bus windows blurred into a mess of dark and light coloring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ABOUT AN HOUR (AND MANY, MANY REASSURANCES) LATER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shuttle bus pulled into the next train station with time to spare, leaving both mochi and nation at the Tokyo City Air Terminal with several bags, a satchel, and a feeling of being very, very hungry. To get rid of this problem, England headed out of the station and into one of the airport cafés, ordering a pot of green tea and a bowl of udon noodles with green onions and chicken. Alfie peeked out from the satchel to find its friend contentedly sipping from his mug, a pair of chopsticks delicately clutching a slippery mess of hot noodles. The mochi could feel its mouth watering as the delicious scent of hot food wafted tantalizingly from the bowl.

"Um, can I have some?", it whispered quietly. England was about to say "Yes" when he remembered (thanks to his visits to Japan) that sharing food with only one pair of chopsticks was considered rude, especially in public. So to compromise, when the waitress came over to check how he was doing, another (smaller) bowl was ordered to go, and both meals were boxed up into Styrofoam containers with plastic spoons and some napkins. The sandy-blonde picked up the food, paid for the meal and bowed in thanks, before heading out the door to find a secluded area to eat in.

A nearby park proved ideal for this, and soon the England was sitting on a small bench under a flowering sakura tree, the food unpacked and tucked into eagerly. Alfie was happily munching away at its noodles, discovering to its great delight that the udon noodles could be slurped up rather like spaghetti. The island nation giggled upon seeing the mochi's cheeks puff out like a nut-hoarding chipmunk as it sucked up noodle after noodle with great enthusiasm, until it discovered, to its horror, that there were no more noodles. Pouting slightly as it saw that England had already finished eating (so it couldn't ask for a share of his food), the mochi saw instead that its Styrofoam cup was still full of warm broth. Deciding to finish off the liquid, Alfie hopped over to the edge of the container and began slurping in earnest; rather unfortunately for the little rice cake, as the broth was drunk, the less there was, and so the mochi had to lean farther and farther over the rim of the cup to drink, until...

SPLASH! Alfie let out a squeak of surprise as it fell over into the half-full cup, the tip of its cowlick just barely peeking out of the warm broth. England, upon seeing his little friend fall into the heated broth, let out a stream of curses as he reached in and pulled the shivering mochi from the cup. "Darn it, Alfie, be careful!", he scolded as he used a napkin to wipe the mochi dry.

"Sorry...", it responded, "But I was so hungry, so I drank all the soup and fell in by accident!" England sighed as he balled up the now used napkin and stuffed it into the Styrofoam cup from his meal. "I know, I know, just PLEASE be more careful, that broth was hot and considering that you're technically animated food, you could have been cooked. I know for a fact that mochi is used in soup during wintertime, and I don't want you accidentally becoming part of the menu."

Alfie nodded quickly before hopping into the Briton's arms and nuzzling him softly. "Thanks for saving me from becoming part of the soup...", it whispered. England smiled softly, patting the mochi reassuringly as he muttered back, "As if I'd ever let that happen..."

The peace and quiet remained for a few more moments, before both nation and mochi felt a horrible feeling of being watched creep up...right behind the bench they were sitting on. England turned around to face the newcomer, a scowl automatically forming as he recognized the unwelcome intruder. Alfie merely stared in confusion from its place in England's arms.

"OH ANGLETERRE!"

"Oh bloody hell...!"

~~~~~~~~~IN WHICH MOCHI MEETS FROG AND PERVERSION IS HEROICALLY AVERTED~~~~~~~~~~

When France had been walking through the park, taking in the many beautiful trees and flowers (and just as many, if not more, beautiful ladies), he had not been expecting to find a certain Englishman sitting on a bench and embracing what appeared to be a sort of blob with...a face? A face, and a cowlick? A rather familiar looking cowlick... Feeling rather curious, he headed over to the little shaded area and, at the urge to sneak up and surprise his targets, the Frenchman quietly crept up behind England, listening in on the conversation. Right after the Briton stopped talking, France leaned in and shouted as loud as he could into his ear, "OH ANGLETERRE!"

With a shriek of surprise, England fell off the bench, turning around angrily and letting out a stream of additional expletives as he realized who'd startled him. Ears ringing painfully from the loud and rather rude greeting, he faced France with a scowl and hissed angrily, "WHAT, you bloody frog? Do you honestly have nothing better to do but sneak up behind others and scare the heck out of them!"

France merely smirked, the leer on his face widening as he spotted the mochi sitting in the British nation's arms, being gently patted on the head to comfort it after the unexpected fall from the bench. 'Ohohon! What a cute little plushie you have zhere! So you really DO still carry around stuffed animals? And here I thought zhat was just something China did, oh well. What is it this time? A bunny, a teddy bear...here, let moi see zhis stuffed toy of yours!"

"What? Wait, no way! Keep your creepy molesting hands to yourself, you perverted surrender-monkey!", England shouted, quickly moving back several steps to keep himself and the mochi in his arms out of reach. France stepped forwards, hands reaching out, getting closer and closer until...

WHAM! The wavy-haired nation experienced a harsh blow to the face, crumpling into a heap on the ground as England lashed out at him, one arm cradling Alfie securely to his chest and the other outstretched to block any countermeasures. France let out a muffled hiss of, "Ouch! Mon Dieu, my face, my beautiful face! She is ruined! Of all ze dirty tricks to pull...!Merde, you idiot, what did you do zhat for!"

The sandy-blonde merely gave him an unsympathetic look before returning his attentions to reassuring the mochi in his arms that "It's alright, there's no need to worry, I'm fine and he's not going to try anything else, I'll hit him again if he tries. The stupid frog just came too close is all..."

Looking up from his position on the ground, France tried to discern just what this 'plushie' (or so he told himself) looked like; even from his limited viewpoint, the Frenchman could see a cowlick and baby blue eyes just like a certain American nation has...'How adorable, Angleterre has a petit plushie...that looks strikingly like Amerique! Hmm...I wonder why...'

unfortunately for him, France would not be finding out why England's mochi friend looked like America, at least not today. Alfie, who was curled up against England's chest, stared at the Frenchman with narrowed eyes; the strange man had not only scared England so much he'd fallen off the bench, but he'd also invaded the Briton's personal space AND tried to take the mochi himself away from England! In the mochi's mind, this was unacceptable!

France, who meanwhile had been both contemplating about the appearance of England's 'plushie' and mourning the damage to his 'beautiful face', had a sudden feeling of foreboding directed at him. Looking up again, he saw that the 'plushie', which he thought was inanimate and thus simply talked to like one of England's 'imaginary' friends, was STARING RIGHT AT HIM. And to make things worse, it was GLARING, with a look on its face that would make grown men cry and the most hardened soldiers run for both the hills and their mothers. France could see the mochi mouth something at him, and as his brain finally managed to process the sentence, his eyebrows rose in both surprise and (although he'd never, ever admit it) slight fear.

Only one sentence: 'Stay away from my England, evil frog!' But it was enough to unnerve him, given that he'd never seen any of England's so-called 'magical friends' before, and to have one threaten him...

France made two vows that day as he got up and left the scene as fast as his wounded pride would allow:  
>the first was to buy more wine so he could drink enough to forget what he'd just seen, and the second was to be on guard against England's mochi 'friend'.<p> 


	11. Chapter 10: Alfie, Meet Gilbird!

France hurtled through the crowded streets of the summertime Nihonbashi neighborhood of Chūō, Tokyo, Japan. Though he had run only a short while away from the park by the Narita International Airport, the distance seemed even smaller than it really was; that mochi, though he would never admit it, scared him. It scared him very much, because it not only had it THREATENED HIM, but it also looked almost eerily reminiscent of early colonial America...albeit as a cute-looking rice cake, but still! The cowlick that refused to lie flat, those big, wondering blue eyes, that sweet smile and that voice, oh that voice...! It HAD to be America's younger self as a rice cake, as crazy as it sounded. It really couldn't be anyone else.

But was this the actual America, or was it something else? Had the irritable tea-sucker gone and tried to do "magic", as he claimed that he could? And if so, had it actually worked and turned a certain fast food-loving nation to turn into a tiny living blob? Or was it a potion, or perhaps he'd eaten some of England's cooking? Or maybe it was a government scientific experiment gone wrong, or-?

WHAM! The fates (and the fae perhaps) were not being kind to the self-proclaimed 'king of l'amour' today, as they seemed intent on making France's beloved face collide rather painfully with all manners of hard things: in this particular case, the silver-white head of a certain Albino with an 'awesomeness' complex.

"Ouch! Arschloch, what the hell, man!", came the angered tones of the person France had accidently crashed into. France himself, who was on the ground and mourning the damage to his face for the second time that day, perked up immediately upon hearing the voice of one of his best friends.

"Prussia, mon ami, how good to see you!", he exclaimed happily, quickly jumping up from the ground and trying to grab his fellow Bad Touch Trio member in a hug. Sidestepping the perverted nation out of long-standing habit, Prussia smirked slightly as his friend grasped only empty air. "So, Francy-pants, what's got you so excited, hmm? I haven't seen you this hyped up since you saw all those pretty little 'Witch Blade' cosplayers back in that convention Japan invited us to..." Rolling his eyes at his friend's crudeness (this was not the time for reminiscing, it was the time for action!), France grabbed Prussia by the arms and marched him into a nearby sushi-bar, ordering a platter of tuna rolls.

When the food arrived a few moments later, Prussia, after devouring both his share (and half of France's for good measure), asked through a mouthful of wasabi-spattered roll, "Not that I don't appreciate the free food and all, but really, what's got you all worked up? Something happen I didn't get the memo for, like free beer handouts or my bruder West finally admitting that he's got a crush on Italy that's even bigger than my awesome 5 meters?"

France sighed; his friend was fun and good company, but he had absolutely no sense of decorum, or for that matter, when to swallow when eating. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in slight frustration, he took a deep breath to calm himself; he hadn't known Prussia all these years without learning how to translate the albino's ramblings, whether they were muffled by food or not.

Turning around in his seat, France grabbed his friend by the shoulders, looked right into his ruby gaze, and exclaimed dramatically, "It's Anglettere. He has..." A moment of silence ensued as the wavy-haired nation trailed off. "What? He has WHAT, France? A huge case of beer, a map to buried treasure, freakin' magic carpet? C'mon, TELL me, dammit!", Prussia hissed furiously. After a few seconds, France's infamous 'I-know-something-you-don't' smirk materialized into place as he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "...a PLUSHIE. A little stuffed blob that looks like one of Japan's 'mochi' things. And of Amerique, no less..." As the albino nation's mind processed this new information, a smirk began forming on his own face. "So, England's got a little stuffed toy of America, huh? Well, isn't that just SO cute...and it makes some damn good blackmail, too. Spain'll die from laughter when he hears about THIS..."

The rest of the bar patrons hurriedly ate their sushi and tried to move away from the two crazed nations as quietly as possible; it was clear that some of these foreigners were too strange to deal with...and they'd even emptied out the sake supply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE NEARBY AREA~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gilbird, unlike his master, was currently having a rather unawesome time. The day had started out fine, with a breakfast of a big bowl of mixed seeds and some fresh water with a hint of orange (Prussia would only let his pet have food and drink worthy of his 'awesomeness'), and then a nice nap on his master's head to sleep the food off. Later on, he would wake up and fly around his master's head as they walked around the districts of Tokyo, with Prussia hitting on women (usually getting his face hit in turn) and buying delicious fried street food, like balls of fresh deep-fried octopus, or salted rice balls with wasabi bits stuck in, or sushi wrapped up in rolls of crispy baked seaweed with sesame seeds (Gilbird particularly like these). This had gone on for several hours, and Gilbird had been enjoying another nice nap on top of soft, silvery-white locks, when France had shown up and proceeded to crash right into Prussia. Though Prussia hadn't noticed (being too preoccupied with swearing at France), Gilbird had fallen off his head due to the force of the impact. The perverted nation's babblings hadn't endeared him to the now-grumpy bird in the slightest either, and then his master went into a sushi-bar and talked to France without even noticing that the awesome Gilbird had fallen off his head!

'Stupid master', Gilbird chirruped angrily. 'If the silly pervert guy wants to talk to him, fine, but that SO doesn't give him the right to knock me off my throne!' (Yes, Gilbird thinks of Prussia's hair as his throne (and a day-nest), because he spends so much time in it). Huffing slightly, the little yellow bird got up off the sidewalk it had fallen on, checked over its wings to ensure flight capabilities, and then took off into the sky.

Flying about in little loop-de-loops, twirls, sharp dives, turns, and barrel rolls soon took Gilbird's mind off the problem with his master, and the avian soon devoted himself completely to the delight of zooming through the sky at the speed of bird-driven 'awesome'. However, as several hours had passed since he had last eaten, the little bird found himself hungry. Circling around as he cast his gaze about for food, Gilbird's sharp eyes suddenly spotted a small, somewhat secluded bench between two sakura trees...a bench upon which there was a man (who Gilbird remembered from his time with Prussia was a rather grumpy ex-pirate named England) holding a small blob of something...'FOOD!', the tiny bird thought.

With a chirruped battle cry for courage, he dove downwards towards his target.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WARNING: INCOMING AWESOMENESS DETECTED!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England was sitting on the bench again, Alfie leaning back against his chest as the two gazed at the sakura petals slowly floating away in the warm summer breeze. Every so often, the mochi would let out a soft giggle, as a stray petal fell down and landed on it, causing the curious rice cake to huff and puff at the petal in a determined effort to help it follow the other petals flying away.

The peace of the afternoon was once again shattered, this time by the sudden incoming yellow 'bullet' hurtling towards Alfie at breakneck speed. England, who had spent so much unwilling time with the Bad Touch Trio, recognized the tell-tale 'PIYO!' and swung his hand out, uttering a quick "Protego!" A shield burst into existence, shimmering a silvery-blue in the air. Both nation and mochi braced for impact; a few seconds later, Gilbird, who was speeding forwards so fast that he didn't see the shield until it was too late, slammed into the shield's domed surface with a muffled gonging noise, uttering a soft "Piyo.." before falling to the ground in defeat.

"What... is that? Is that a bird? Is it dead?", Alfie asked curiously. "Yes, it's a bird, Prussia's pet, to be exact," England responded as he knelt down beside the dazed avian. "His name is Gilbird, and no, he's not dead. He'd be twitching in post-mortem spasms if he was." Upon catching sight of his friend's inquisitive gaze, England explained, "If he was dead, he'd be twitching." The mochi nodded in understanding. "Hmm, no wonder he looks different, he's not a seagull then..."

The sandy-blonde raised an eyebrow questioningly; Alfie replied, "When I went to the city where that big store Japan got me from was, I came in on a seagull." "A...seagull?", England haltingly asked. The mochi nodded again. Deciding not to question this apparent transportation method (as it would most likely drive him mad), England instead turned his attention from the mochi in his arms to the still fallen Gilbird.

After he'd persuaded Alfie to get back into the satchel so he could carry Gilbird safely, he looked the bird in question over for a moment. Gently slipping his left hand underneath Gilbird, England gently nudged the little avian into his palm with his right hand and stood up. Brushing grains of sand from his knees, he walked quickly threw away the leftover trash from lunch earlier, before walking out the park.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England had managed to get directions from the park to the hotel he'd booked for the duration of the meeting, and soon checked in. Having carefully hidden Gilbird in the satchel with Alfie (the quilt-nest really came in handy now, as it successfully cushioned both bird and mochi and hid them from view if someone looked in the satchel), he thanked the desk clerk before heading towards his rented "room"-a modestly-sized capsule space provided by this particular type of hotel (for both convenience and quick booking, England would occasionally rent a room at a "capsule hotel" when going to meetings in Japan's country).

After slipping inside the small chamber and shutting the curtain over the fiberglass door, England knelt down inside the tiny space and unclasped the satchel flaps, allowing him to look inside and see that not only had Gilbird fallen asleep after its rather harrowing ordeal, but was also snuggled up against an equally conked out Alfie. Between the two tiny forms cuddling up in the quilt bunches, there was a soft, oddly rhythmic chorus of "piyo..", soft snores, and murmurs of "hmmmm...food...".

Chuckling softly to himself, England curled up beside the satchel and settled himself down for a short nap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, WITH PRUSSIA AND FRANCE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"OH MEIN GOTT, WHERE'S GILBIRD!"

"Oh, merde, Prussia, you lost him...!"


	12. Chapter 11: Dude, Where's My Bird?

When England woke up the next day (jet lag and the time difference between countries had knocked the rather tired nation out for a while), he blinked a few times so that the tiny room would come back into focus. As the little chamber realigned itself, his ears picked up the faint sound of snoring and...chirping? Looking about for a moment for the possible source of the noise, it took the still-sleepy island nation a few seconds to identify the satchel he lay next to, and a few more to remember that there was a sleeping bird and mochi cuddled up inside it. Shaking his head to help clear it, he rubbed his eyes and pulled the satchel close, opening up the flap. Inside, Gilbird was curled up with his wings over his head, feathers slightly ruffled as he cheeped sleepily; Alfie, in contrast, had sidled up next to the tiny yellow avian, and was currently snoring faintly, mumbling a soft "Hahaha..." every so often, as a little string of drool dripped down and little puffs of breath blew that infamous cowlick all over the place.

Smiling slightly as he took in the sweet sight, England considered his options on what to do next: either wake up his two tiny companions so they could get breakfast and prepare for the day, or have them sleep a bit longer in the satchel and leave them in the capsule 'room' he'd rented for a few hours. After several minutes of weighing the pros and cons of either choice, the island nation's stomach rumbled; feeling a bid embarrassed, England decided simply to let everyone have breakfast first before planning out the day's schedule. But how to wake them? Shaking the satchel obviously was a bad idea, as it would not only possibly hurt the two little live contents inside, but also would make for a rather upset Gilbird (who would probably try to claw or peck him in retaliation) and an even more upset Alfie, who would probably think they were under attack or something. So, it was best just to open up the compartment (so they could at least see where they were) and wake them up quickly...With this thought in mind, he slipped his hand into the open compartment, and snapped his fingers.

The resulting noise, which was rather loud for Alfie and Gilbird (given their current size and proximity to the snapped fingers), caused an instant chain reaction: Gilbird let out a startled "PIYO!" and flew right up out of the open compartment and into the air, causing him to slam into the low ceiling of the capsule. The dazed bird fell back into the satchel quilts with a muffled thud. Alfie, on the other hand, let out a yell of "AAAAAAHHH! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! DIVE, DIVE, DIVE! EVERYONE, GET UNDER THE BLANKIES!", and promptly burrowed as far into the fabrics as possible, shaking with apparent fear.

Sighing in faint frustration at the negative reaction, England looked into the open satchel to check if Gilbird was alright; the little bird was a tad dazed, with feathers rather ruffled, but on the whole seemed fine. Alfie had to be picked up out the quilt and patted several times on the head as the Briton reassured the tiny rice cake that they were not under attack, and that England had only been trying to wake them up. Gilbird, after regaining some motor functioning (and after the room stopped spinning so much), saw the mochi getting cuddled and decided that it wanted some of the attention. Chirruping in indignation, the bird hopped woozily over to the island nation and nudged his knees, a look of "HUG ME, DAMMIT!" plain as day on its pouting face.

Rolling his eyes, England scooped up the pouting avian and proceeded to hug both Gilbird and Alfie to his chest. A look of satisfaction graced Gilbird's face as he happily indulged in the radiated warmth, Alfie giving him an equally smug look, as if to say "Yeah, you get THIS whenever you want. Great, huh?". The little bird nodded in agreement; true, it wasn't as good as naps on Prussia's head, but this cuddling still felt really nice...and unlike with his master, he didn't wake up to the sour smell of beer, or the yelling from an angered Germany upon seeing the Prussian passed out and drooling in a drunken stupor, surrounded with alcohol bottles scattered about on the previously clean floor.

Looking down at the mochi and bird in his arms, England asked quietly, "Sorry to have woken you up so abruptly. I was just trying to get everyone up so we could get some food to help start the day off. So, do you two want any breakfast?" Both Alfie and Gilbird nodded. A split second later, their hunger was further confirmed when Alfie's stomach rumbled rather loudly, causing the little rice cake to blush slightly in embarrassment. Grinning a little, England set them down in the satchel again, closing the flap and telling them to wait a bit since he had to change. Gilbird, being a naturally mischievous bird after all the time spent with the Bad Touch Trio, tried to peek out of the satchel; this was quickly thwarted by Alfie, who let out a squeak of righteous indignation and promptly hopped onto Gilbird's back. Being somewhat larger than the little avian, this resulted with anchoring Gilbird in place with several  
>or so pounds of mochi-weight and thus angling the bird's head in such a manner that Gilbird could now only look at the quilt stitching.<p>

Deciding that some good old-fashioned revenge was in order, Gilbird lifted up his left wing and swung it at Alfie; the mochi retaliated with grabbing the wing in its mouth, causing the feathers to be covered in mochi drool. Gilbird let out a squawk of outrage and twisted himself, knocking Alfie off in the process. As either satchel occupant moved to opposite sides of the "nest", the mochi and the bird eyed each other angrily. The silence was broken by  
>renewed tummy rumblings from them both. Letting out a soft huff of frustration, Gilbird conceded to a truce so that England wouldn't discover them fighting and do something unawesome as punishment, such as take away their breakfast. Alfie, who was both hungry and also unwilling to upset his sandy-haired friend, agreed. Thus, the 'Mochi-Gilbird' war was ended.<p>

England, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the small scuffle that had happened in the satchel behind him, and was currently busy pulling on a pair of sneakers; having already exchanged his travel clothes (a long-sleeved button-up grey shirt and a pair of pants/trousers) for a pair of multi-pocketed tan cargo pants and a baby blue tee-shirt with short sleeves patterned with interlocking black circles. As he called out, "You can come out now!" Alfie hopped out of the satchel, Gilbird flying close behind. The mochi looked up at the sandy-blonde and giggled softly, having never seen England so...laid back with his clothes before. Gilbird, on the other hand, had more important things on his awesome mind: getting breakfast, and then taking a nice nap.

As the island nation looked over at the two other occupants of the capsule 'room', he was suddenly struck with a worrying thought: how on earth was he supposed to be able to smuggle Gilbird out? Alfie could be held in his arms and would be able to pass for a stuffed toy of sorts, or a plushie won at a summer carnival; if he talked, England could even give the excuse that Alfie was one of those plushies with "voice action!" capabilities. Prussia's pet, however, was a highly flighty little bird with a penchant for noise and mischief of the highest degree. Perhaps he'd have to buy a pet carrier or something to put Gilbird in? No, that wouldn't work, that would be expensive, and he'd just chatter away and claw at the bars and complain the whole day long, and that would draw a lot of unwanted attention. He wanted to enjoy his last day of relaxation before the meeting, after all. He didn't want to spend it getting arrested by reports of "disturbing the peace" because he'd been pandering to the whims of a nonsensical little avian that had been pampered by Prussia for centuries (though he inwardly acknowledged that he did coddle Alfie and his magical friends, if just a bit).

But as this thought process was making its merry way through England's head, Gilbird was looking over England's hair rather critically, going over the pros and cons of using the island nation's hair for a temporary 'throne'. True, it was not awesome Prussian hair, but he WAS rather tired. And since he was still rather annoyed at his master, it wouldn't be cheating on his usual throne, not really, especially since Prussia probably had dunked his head into a sake barrel again like the last time they had visited Japan. The funny-smelling rice-made drink may have tasted good to his master, but it had made Gilbird's throne smell funny for a whole two days before Germany, handkerchief over his nose and mouth to block out the smell, had proceeded to shove Prussia's head into the kitchen sink back home, and give the silvery-white locks a thorough (and rather rough) scrubbing...

From the peace-talks he'd engaged in with Alfie (the quilt in the satchel had been established as a de-militarized zone, and used to hold the 'Mochi-Gilbird' treaty that decreed permanent peace between mochi and bird for the sake of both England and breakfast.), the 'awesome' bird had learned that England's hair was very soft and warm, and Alfie, rather like Gilbird, deemed such good hair their personal favorite place to nap. But Alfie, being a hero-mochi, was willing to share this special territory so Gilbird would have a place to nap until he got back to Prussia. Gilbird was rather grateful for this, and happily decided that the mochi and England weren't so bad, and perhaps, if England's hair really was so nice, even 'awesome' (even if they were at a somewhat lesser degree of 'awesome' than his master...who he was still a bit mad at for leaving him on the sidewalk.).

So England, still lost in his musings, was suddenly surprised to find Gilbird flying at his head, and Alfie hopping up onto his knees, then his shoulders, and then finally onto his head. As Alfie settled into place amongst his sandy-blonde locks, he was further shocked when Gilbird proceeded to snuggle up next to Alfie, draping a wing in companionship over the left side of the mochi. England, despite the rising impulse to yell at the two for taking over his hair, was put in mind of the many times back home where Alfie would snuggle into his hair. It was clear that Gilbird wanted the same thing. 'Great, just great', he thought in mixed parts resignation and partial amusement, 'First Alfie, now Gilbird. I seem to be attracting strange creatures to nest in my hair these days...'

Sighing softly, he finished putting his sneakers on, closed the satchel and slung it over his shoulders, and crawled out of the chamber, careful not to knock his hair's two occupants off when he ducked his head. After checking the nearby cubby-holes where customer luggage was stored (he wanted to make sure his suitcases were still there), England shut the door, before walking out of the hotel and into the hot summer air.

It was only midmorning, and already the denizens of Greater Tokyo were hard at work: street vendors selling quick meals and snacks, restaurants and shops open and packed with people, and everywhere were dozens of people. Businesspeople briskly walking across the streets when the lights changed; groups of students hurrying across sidewalks in clusters, schoolbags decorated with cell-phone charms, stickers, and packed with books and papers being swung everywhere; families eating breakfast in apartments, talking on phones, ushering their children out the door with bentos in one hand, school briefcases in the other...the pounding of hundreds of feet, the honking of car horns and the glare of sunlit windows, the glow of stoplights, and the constant crush of noise from talking...! England stared for a moment at the midmorning chaos before him, before getting onto the sidewalk and waiting for the light to change.

When the light finally changed from red to green, the sandy-blonde instinctively began running towards the other side of the crosswalk, followed and soon surrounded by the mad rush of oncoming citizens. When he finally got to the other side, England had been accidently elbowed twice, accidently crashing into from behind once, and had his toes stepped on about five times. Despite the apologies that had been said, he hoped increasingly to find a good place to eat soon, or else his provoked temper would end up causing an international incident.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, AT A NEARBY RESTAURANT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England had managed to locate a small, traditionally furnished noodle eatery about a block and a half away from the capsule hotel, and had been seated at a low table by a window. To his relief, the waitress that seated him had simply thought Alfie and Gilbird were some exotic cosplay headgear from an anime convention downtown, and thus he had only been asked to take the "hat" off for politeness' sake. The cushion "seat" next to him thus was given to Alfie and Gilbird. Once the waitress had gone to give their order to the cook (a plate of spring rolls and a small bowl of noodles with green onions), the pre-meal hot towels became rather useful for wiping his sweaty hands, though Alfie had to be told that the towel was now considered dirty (as the mochi had become curious and wanted to 'clean up' too.).

Thanks to the provided pot of green tea, the island nation's temper had cooled down and his mood had cheered up considerably. Alfie was munching on a big piece of lettuce from the spring roll ordered as an appetizer; Gilbird had his head buried neck-deep in a shallow bowl of sesame seeds provided as extra seasoning. Fortunately, as they were the only customers in this section of the restaurant, England could relax somewhat about whether or not someone might see his "hat" sitting on a cushion and eating along with him.

When the food arrived, England quietly thanked the waitress, before breaking the provided wooden chopsticks cleanly, folding both hands together in front of his chest, and muttering a quick "Itadakimasu!" (Time spent visiting Japan had taught him that it was best to pay respects to the host country's customs). With this said, he began tucking into the noodles with vigor, savoring the hot noodles and rich flavoring. Alfie laughed softly as the bowl emptied out rapidly; the food was vanishing almost as fast as the tea had.

Gilbird, on the other hand, had polished off the sesame seeds and felt rather thirsty. The little avian hopped off the cushion, fluttering over to England and letting out a soft "Piyo!" as he pointed to the empty cup with one wing. A single large eyebrow rose in question at the bird's pointing; letting out a soft huff at the lack of understanding, Gilbird hopped over to the cup and dipped his head in, miming drinking. Realization dawned in acid green eyes at the sight, and England quickly looked about for something to give Gilbird to drink. But with the tea kettle empty, there was no beverage in sight, and he couldn't just ask the waitress to get a cup of juice or water for a bird that they thought was part of his "hat", they'd think him mad... 'Hmm, what to do, what to do...' he wondered, staring at the empty cup as if it would provide an answer.

Gilbird was also staring at the cup, but in a way that said that it clearly blamed the empty container for its problem, as it had no drink in it when the awesome Gilbird needed a drink! Alfie, meanwhile, was watching Gilbird, amusement clearly shining in its big blue eyes at the almost ridiculous, yet somehow comedic sight of the avian pouting at an empty teacup.

Suddenly, Alfie had an idea. Seeing as it had seen England use magic at home to lock doors, summon books for bedtime reading, and heat the tea kettle (as well as protect the mochi from becoming Gilbird's lunch yesterday), why didn't its friend use magic to make a drink for Gilbird? With this thought in mind, the rice cake quickly scarfed down the remaining shred of its lettuce, and hopped into England's lap, chirruping "Why don't you just do magic to give him somethin' ta drink?" The island nation pondered this for a moment, before replying, "I would if I could, but I can't. There are some things you can't do with magic, and making food or drink is one of them; it's a universal law. I can't just make a beverage appear out of thin air. Unless..."

It was almost as if a light bulb had gone off over the sandy-blonde's head. England had just remembered the food and drink magic loophole: water. Conjuration of water was quite acceptable by magical standards; granted, it wouldn't taste very flavorful, but it was a beverage that could be made without trouble (so long as he said the spell quietly), so it would have to do. Though it DID come in a stream of water, rather than a trickle, so the pot would have to be used to hold it all first, and then to pour some into the cup. Holding his hand out over the empty kettle, England whispered a soft,"Aguamenti."; the kettle was filled with fresh, clear water. The island nation reached for the kettle lid, intent on putting it back on so he could pour some for the thirsty bird; Gilbird, however, was impatient, and instead hopped onto the rim of the open pot, clutching with his claws for a good foothold, and then stuck his head in, drinking deeply and causing little air bubbles to appear on the water's surface.

England, who had meanwhile picked up the lid, quickly dropped it back onto the table as he stared in shock at Gilbird's draining of the kettle. Forcing back a stream of curse words at the sheer lack of hygiene from this act (after all, he very much doubted that the restaurant staff would be happy upon discovering that one of their pots had been used by a strange bird (When WAS the last time Gilbird had been cleaned again?) for a sort of bird-drink dispenser.), the island nation quickly grabbed Gilbird and pulled him free of the teapot, muttering scoldings under his breath as he vanished the contents of the pot with a quick "Evanesco!", and then a "Scourgify" to clean the pot of possible avian germs, just in case.

As the pouting bird was dried with a napkin and put back onto the cushion, a teacup full of water was placed in front of him, along with a warning to "Not drink out of the blasted teapot again, you silly bird! If you do that again, we'll get in trouble!" Alfie gave only a little sympathy, promptly muttering "It WAS your fault. You might have fallen in and got stuck in there too, and I don't think bird tea tastes too good to most people!" Gilbird let out a soft "piyo..." of misery; normally he could do stupid, strange things and feel no worse for it, but this was different, somehow. These two had been nice to him, they'd let him sleep in fuzzy quilts, talked to him, and gave him breakfast. He'd even gotten to sit in hair that was (almost) as good as his master's hair. He didn't mean to make everyone so upset, he was just thirsty...

As he looked at the sad little creature, England let out a soft sigh; MUST he have such a blasted soft spot for all things cute and cuddly? It must be a side-effect of staying with Flying Mint Bunny too long...

England gently reached down and picked up both mochi and bird, placing Alfie on one knee and Gilbird on the other, as he muttered, "The things I do for you lot...". Gently petting the top of Gilbird's head with his thumb, he picked up the full teacup and held it in front of him, a silent peace offering. Alfie nodded encouragingly to Gilbird as the upset avian looked up. Then both mochi and nation smiling slightly, as Gilbird gently nudged the teacup into the middle of England's lap, allowing both himself and Alfie to share.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, WITH PANICKING PRUSSIA AND HALF-AMUSED, HALF-SYMPATHETIC FRANCE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

France was not quite sure when he'd last seen Prussia this upset. To have Prussia without Gilbird was like toast without butter, peanut butter without jelly, north Italy without pasta, himself without love...it just didn't WORK! It was as if the world had turned upside down and the sky had started raining burnt scones!

The albino was currently running around, grabbing people by the shoulders and shouting into their faces "HAVE YOU SEEN MY BIRD?" It would be almost comical if he hadn't known just how much the little bird meant to his friend. After all, he and Gilbird were practically inseparable; he'd had the little yellow flying fuzz ball back when he'd been part of the Teutonic Knights, all the way back to the start of his existence. To see Prussia running about like this was, in short, both funny and sort of sad, really, considering that Prussia had now gone past the 'panicking' stage and was now going through the 'complete and utter breakdown' stage, complete with the beer-loving nation falling onto his knees right there in the middle of the park and wailing that "FATE IS SO DAMN UNAWESOME TO MEEEEEEE!"

Face met palm as France regarded the whimpering albino, a hand placed sympathetically on his shoulder. Perhaps he'd better call Spain and have him help too...and perhaps bring along some earplugs while he was at it...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AFTER BREAKFAST~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After paying the bill, thanking the restaurant staff for the meal, and heading outside, England was once again on the sidewalk, though this time both Alfie and Gilbird were in his arms rather than on his head. Looking about, he wondered where they should all go next. The park, perhaps? No, Gilbird would just compete for seeds thrown by the elderly people who fed the birds. The mall, or a movie theatre, maybe? No, if they went to the mall they'd all get lost and someone might try to take Gilbird and Alfie away for looking like possible stolen "plushie" merchandise, and if they went to the movies then the two would complain about it because it would be dark, and they wouldn't be allowed to talk, and they wouldn't know what the people onscreen were saying during the film. Also, England was rather sure that birds and talking rice cakes (no matter how cute) were illegal to bring into movie theatres.

Perhaps a festival, then? There were plenty of those during summertime in all parts of Japan, and both Gilbird and Alfie could pass as stuffed toys won at a game booth (so long as they kept quiet and didn't move around too much). But what festivals were going on today?

Taking out his cell-phone from one of his pants pockets, England looked at the small screen and saw the date: July 7th.

July 7th. He'd missed America's birthday.

Feeling slightly upset and sad for a reason he couldn't quite yet fathom, the island nation closed his phone and put it away, trying to push away the strange feelings. So what if America hadn't called and invited him to his birthday? He wasn't upset, right? Right?...But he couldn't lie to himself. He WAS upset; even if he turned down the invitations, and usually got sick around this time of year (though he hadn't this year; perhaps the arrival and company of Alfie had something to do with it?), he still secretly enjoyed being invited. He enjoyed it, even if only a bit, because it showed that America wanted him there. But he hadn't called this year...

Blinking back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill forth, he furiously rubbed his hand over his eyes and instead returned his attentions to the idea of the festival. Going over dates of some of the festivals from his visits to Japan, he realized that the Tanabata festival was today. They could go see that.

Smiling a bit at this new turn of events, he looked down at the mochi and bird in his arms and whispered softly," Do you want to go to a festival today?" Gilbird chirruped a soft "Piyo!" of agreement, and Alfie smiled happily with a soft, affirmative "Uh-huh!" Thus the plans for the day were set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BACK WITH PRUSSIA, FRANCE, AND NOW SPAIN~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

France had only been able to withstand another hour or so of Prussia's wails and complaints about the absence of Gilbird, before his patience snapped into a million pieces and he decided to enlist the help of Spain. The tomato-crazed nation had shown up soon after with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, apparently unfazed by a request to find the lost bird of a personified country that no longer officially existed by political standards.

Within several hours of frantic searching, however, the Bad Touch Trio was forced to take a break from their fruitless efforts. The combing of Greater Tokyo had yielded no results (other than the usual hitting on the locals, and getting either polite, embarrassed refusals, or slaps to the face in return). Prussia was going absolutely mental with the loss of his avian companion, and it was grating on France's nerves to have to listen to his friend's constant whining when there was no pretty women or wine to block it out. Spain, on the other hand, was happily searching everything within a foot or more's worth of reach for Gilbird, upturning garbage cans and looking under park benches, searching store counters, peeking under restaurant tables and chairs, and asking dozens of civilians about the lost Gilbird. Every hour or so he'd also place a call to his beloved Romano and chatter aimlessly into his phone for quite a while about all sorts of things, before Prussia, in a fit of missing Gilbird-induced grief and annoyance, would yank the phone out of his friend's hands (smacking him upside the head as he did so), drop the call, and remind him to keep looking.

The hot sun was baking the three in their summer civilian clothing as they walked, and France was becoming increasingly annoyed (the fact that the heat was making his luxurious hair frizz and curl in all directions was certainly not helping either). Sighing as they passed another city block and there was still no sign of Gilbird, he wondered if he should have just let Spain deal with Prussia's missing bird problem.


	13. Chapter 12: If You'll Be My Star

The Greater Tokyo area was alit with streetlights, shop lights, and dozens of lanterns, hung along windows, street buildings, and outside shops and restaurants. The streets were bustling with hundreds of denizens dressed in both traditional and modern garb, families and couples wandering about, children laughing and running in and out of the stall booths, dozens of street stalls selling fried food or snacks, or showcasing pet fish in little plastic bags and stuffed animal prizes to be won from games of ring toss and goldfish scooping...it was the evening of July 7th, and the Tanabata Festival was in full swing.

England, in the spirit of festival tradition, had purchased a summer yukata to wear. The judging of his festival apparel had been rather humorous, if truth be told: Gilbird had chirruped either in refusal, or simple dislike upon seeing many of his possible selections, and Alfie had somehow gotten the idea that it could pick the yukata FOR him, as England had felt his ankle being nudged while looking at a dark blue yukata with orange trim. Upon looking down, he's seen Alfie's cowlick peeking out from the folds of a slender yukata in shades of darkening green, the hem and sleeves trimmed with gold and dark cream. A faint pattern of autumn leaves trailed across the back, flowing over his torso and then criss-crossing down his shoulders, across his arms, until it ended at his wrists on either side with the outline of a silver-thread sakura bloom. The little mochi had promptly popped out of the yukata, mouth full of dark green fabric. "Mmmhhhmmm!" came the determined mumbling, as it stared at England with a look that clearly said, "THIS one!"

Considering that Gilbird had seen the yukata and chirruped with a tone of finality, it was clear that he had to take this one; it had the Prussian seal of approval, after all, so there was no arguing with the choice. 'Dammit', he thought in resignation, 'Outvoted by a bird and a rice cake.' But the outfit had been picked, and it was clear from his companions'' expressions that he had absolutely no say whatsoever; it was best to just belt up and get it over with. Purchasing his new festival clothing was slightly embarrassing, as the cashier had a slightly questioning look in her eyes at seeing his 'headgear', and he could literally feel the grin on Alfie's face as the mochi nestled in his hair with Gilbird.

The island nation had quickly donned his new outfit and slid on a pair of sandals, before turning his gaze upwards and muttering a rather stern "Behave, BOTH of you!" to help quell the duo's increasing smirks; marching out of the store as fast as his pride would allow, he managed to walk several blocks away, before his annoyance yielded to the beginnings of an ache in his legs. After the three misfit companions felt the beginnings of new hunger pangs, a nearby restaurant was visited (though Gilbird was forbidden to drink out of any more tea kettles.).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SEVERAL HOURS LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon was full, the air was sweet and spicy with the scent of hundreds of blooming flowers, and the trees was hung with dozens of lanterns, strings of lights, and numerous strips of paper. Children were playing ring toss, toting plastic bags full of goldfish, or partaking in numerous snacks and drinks with their families as hundreds of Greater Tokyo's denizens roamed the lit streets and parks. Lanterns in various shades glowed like jewels in the muggy summer darkness, pinpricks of city lighting shining in the background as the crowds grew ever larger.

England, dressed in his new yukata and a pair of summer sandals, clutched a recently acquired stick of dango in one hand, and a small, pale green lantern on a stick in the other, bobbing up and down with a champagne-colored glow as he walked through a crowded park. Gilbird and Alfie had both migrated from their seating in his hair about an hour before; Gilbird had hopped downwards and decided to perch on his left shoulder, snuggling against the island nation's warm, slender neck and peering out at the bustling street life from behind thick locks of sandy-blonde hair. The dango stick was being liberally divided up amongst the three strange companions as time went on; Gilbird gave a happy "Piyo!" of contentment every so often, as England broke off bits of peach-flavored dango and offered them as snack food (being a bird that had been given plenty of human food thanks to centuries of Prussia's pampering, Gilbird, as far as England was concerned, had no reason not to gorge on the occasional sugary treat, as time had proven that the little yellow avian would only suffer from a possible stomachache or sugar high.) Alfie, meanwhile, had decided to pose as a rather adorable stuffed animal, and thus had hitched a ride in England's arms; the little rice cake was happily soaking up the excited squeals and compliments from the passing children and occasional teenager.

However, as time went on, England began growing restless at simply wandering around, and thus decided, if only for a bit of amusement, to try out one of the numerous game booths clustered amongst the park's trees and lanes. Wandering over to a game booth featuring a ring toss game, he saw a series of shelves in the back of the shop, laden heavily with numerous stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes and colors, little brightly colored toys and trinkets, and a huge collection of tear-shaped plastic bags full of water and multiple goldfish in fiery orange, yellow, and red shades. Gilbird and Alfie both let out little chirps of excitement upon catching sight of the plushies. Alfie began wiggling about excitedly, trying to get closer to the booth to get a better look at the stuffed toys; England bit back a string of curse words as he pulled the little rice cake more closely to his chest to prevent the squirming blob from hopping out of his hold and possibly causing a scene.

Finding its attempt at "escape" foiled, the mochi turned around to face the Briton, pouting slightly as it whispered pleadingly, "Can I try to get one? Please, please? PLEASE?" Huffing slightly at Alfie, England muttered back, "Sorry, but no. You don't have any arms to play the game with anyway." The mochi's eyes widened with realization, before beginning to water as the situation sank in. Upon seeing the beginnings of tears, the island nation was seized with panic; having never been able to resist the crying of the human America, to see the adorable mochi version (with the already powerful puppy-pout wielding blue eyes magnified at least twice over) crying was something about a million or more times worse, and he never did like seeing his friends upset, particularly this little creature in his care. It just wouldn't be right for the poor mochi to cry over something so trivial...

Sighing in both resignation and slight amusement at his current position, England offered quietly, "Well, how about I win one for you then?" Huge sky blue eyes widened with surprise and immense glee as Alfie heard its friend's offer; literally quivering with joy, the little rice cake quickly squeaked out, "Ah huh, ah huh! Please, please, please! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Smiling at his friend's immense happiness, England headed towards the game booth, only to feel his neck being nudged by Gilbird. "Hmm? Gilbird, what is it?", he whispered; the little yellow avian edged into the corner of his vision, a somehow pouting look on his face that clearly said "If the rice cake gets one, I get one too, right? RIGHT?" Looking at his two misfit festival companions, the island nation sighed softly, before replying, "Fine, you can both SHARE one. I'll go win it, so you guys just go decide which one you want, ok?"

Gilbird gave a one-winged salute of agreement, while Alfie nodded (well, leaned in a sort of nodding manner). Thus, the mochi and avian turned their combined attentions to the long shelves of stuffed animals and other such cuddly prizes: piles of teddy bears, plush kittens and puppies, numerous fuzzy anime character "chibis" and companion pets, oversized foodstuffs (huge plush dango sticks and onigiri balls in soft pastel colors, weird...but sort of cute)...So, which to pick? Which would give the most comfortable snuggling? What colors were best? Which one would give the most comfort when watching scary movies? Was this one too big, or too fuzzy? How warm would it be at night, and would it keep the monsters away? Two sets of eyes, one coal black and the other sky-blue, combed the shelf offerings with a critical eye, searching, searching...

Suddenly, they saw it: at the very bottom shelf, at the far left, was the plushie. It was a small stuffed rabbit plush, curled in a sort of ball, almost as if napping; in the crook of the right arm was a large stuffed carrot. The rabbit plush was soft-looking, having mostly sleek, sandy-blonde fur, with a cream-colored underbelly and neck ruff, and dainty, dark-cream "sock" paws. A fluffy, cotton-ball like tail peeked out from behind a little mint-green, triple-pocketed apron imprinted with the word "Teatime" stitched into a yellow heart shape, interlocked with a china teacup with a little grey steam cloud billowing over the cup surface. A child-sized wooden spoon, a tiny jar of "spices", and a little pastel blue handkerchief peeped out of the apron pockets. The rabbit's ears were long and floppy, with pale pink insides and extending almost comically down to the rabbit's tiny feet; but it was the face that clearly had the most detail. The rabbit plush had a heart-shaped face with dainty whiskers, a small, pouting mouth, and a tiny, pastel pink nose; plump, fuzzy cheeks held the barest hint of scarlet (perhaps hinting at the beginnings of a blush), and the eyes were large and spring green.

That was it. That was the plushie to get, it HAD to be (After all, the fact that the little rabbit plush reminded them of their tea-mad caretaker was a very awesome reason to get it). Gilbird and Alfie looked at each other, nodding in silent agreement, before turning to England, their eyes darting to the plush and then back again.

As his acidic green gaze locked onto the stuffed animal selected, the island nation wondered if he was overanalyzing the situation by being reminded of all the times that France had called him "Mon petit lapin~", which he knew, to his great annoyance, was the perverted nation calling him "little rabbit" (he would never admit it, but being invaded by the French back during the early days had give him the chance to learn "the frog's tongue" through his people, and thus he knew all too well what France was saying when he went off in French). He was NO one's rabbit, blast it! But this wasn't the most reputedly perverse nation in all Eastern Europe (himself excluded). This was for Alfie and Gilbird, for goodness' sake! This was for the happiness of a living rice cake and a couple hundred years-old bird; they couldn't possibly make anything lewd out of a stuffed animal. This was probably something to snuggle with, or to play with, or to chew on...

Squaring his shoulders, England walked up to the game booth, mind made up. With his eyes locked onto the rabbit plush, he asked to play a round.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AFTER THE GAME~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England grinned victoriously as the ring landed point blank on the farthest bottle in the booth; turning to the two owners, he opened his mouth to ask for his prize, but the words stuck in his throat. The reason why? Standing behind the counter were two of the strangest looking teenagers he'd ever seen, and they were both giving off a strong aura of "bat-shit crazy". Their appearances were also rather...unique, if it could be said.

The taller of the two girls had pale, almost milky skin, and her hair was boyishly short, kicking out in tufts and spikes at the ends; her eyes were golden brown, rather like the two Italies, and the grin she gave him seemed somehow sinister, particularly as a hint of pearly canines were exposed in the lantern lighting. Her clothes were also rather out of place amongst the yukata apparel of many festival goers: she looked instead to be some sort of cosplayer, being clad in a pair of sky blue shorts, a pink midriff tank top, black sneakers with white laces, and a strange, milk chocolate hoodie with wolf ears and a tail attached by a belt. A black choker embellished with a golden coin charm was bound about her neck. There was a sign clasped to her chest saying "Warning: Don't feed my co-worker. SHE BITES!" written in huge block lettering, and then kanji for good measure, underlined numerous times with red marker. The sign looked rather worn, layered in some places with duct tape, and had numerous cracks in it, as if it had been pieced back together after being smashed.

The shorter girl was rather..."Russia-like", if truth be told. Her face was sweet enough, and she seemed quite energetic and cheerful, but something about her smile and the tilt of her head reminded him of France at his most lecherous, while simultaneously giving off the sense of Russia's angry "I'm going to smile to I creep you out as I threaten you" vibes... She was slender, reasonably tall, and pale in the sense of one who spends time outdoors but still somehow maintains a near porcelain skin tone; a large, white unicorn plushie was being squeezed in her arms, to the point where stuffing was coming out in some places. Clad in a black cosplay dress with red lace trim, a boat neck top with gothic-style kanji for "Eat me", and scarlet puffy bell sleeves, she reminded the Briton rather of one of those "Lolita" doll figurines that Japan's people made for collectors. Thick, slightly wavy golden tresses hung down to her waist, and England was slightly startled to see that there were almost eerily realistic looking cat ears and tail attached seamlessly to her body (twitching and swishing back and forth, respectively); her nails were painted a dizzying shade of molten silver, and were clicking themselves against the booth countertop with a rapid series of taps, as if the teenager was spelling out Morse code. Somehow, as she stared at him from across the counter, with that strange smile on her lips and that odd head tilt, England had the strange, rather terrifying feeling that the girl wasn't quite normal. And it wasn't in the "I'm a creepy fan girl who likes to imagine you naked or as part of my OTP" sense, either. It felt somehow...wrong, as if the girl wasn't the age she appeared, as if she was...older. And bloodthirsty.

Fighting off the urge to bolt from the scene like a frightened mouse, the island nation ignored his mounting uneasy feelings and asked politely, "May I have that stuffed rabbit over there, please?" The girl with the cat ears smiled at him, nodding as she cheerfully replied," Sure thing! Lemme get it for ya!" before dropping her unicorn plushie on the counter and walking over to the required shelf. Upon reaching the stuffed animal, she promptly grabbed it and skipped back to the counter, before shoving it unceremoniously into the Englishman's face with a shout of "HERE YOU GO!" England let out a muffled exclamation of shock as he managed to grab the plushie an inch before it would have slammed into his nose. "Why you...!" he sputtered in surprise, just barely managing to catch the stuffed animal and keep his hold on it.

"Oh, by the way, you still need to pay for the game." she added sweetly. The sandy-blonde blinked in confusion; he'd already paid for his round of the game, why was she asking for more money? "Oh, not like THAT," came the girl's voice suddenly; England whirled around in surprise; from being right in front of him at the counter only a second before, the girl was currently right behind him...and her teeth seemed somehow to have sharpened. A horrible feeling of danger suddenly passed through England's body as he stared in shock at the elongated canines; Gilbird and Alfie, also sensing danger, tried to make themselves as small as possible as they pressed themselves tightly to England's body. "Like THIS." she cooed mischievously.

Without warning, a sharp pain burned into England's arm as the girl suddenly bit down HARD, sucking at the now ripped fabric as if trying to slurp up a milkshake. "Ouch, daft woman, what did you do that for!" he shouted, jumping away and clutching his arm to his chest to prevent more biting. The girl merely smirked at him, before mouthing the words "I was thirsty", and then slinking off, reappearing a few seconds later behind the booth counter as if she'd never left. "Dammit, Nemo!" hissed her companion in the booth, "How many times have I told you not to bite people in public! We could get arrested. AGAIN! And unlike you, I don't really feel like digging our way out of jail with freaking SPOONS. AGAIN!" Cat ears merely twitched in response, the shorter female merely looking innocently at her angered co-worker. "What'd I do wrong? Really, Wolfie, I was just hungry. It's not like I actually drained enough to KILL him...besides, I let GO, didn't I? I didn't do that for the last guy I snacked on, you know!" Rolling her eyes, 'Wolfie' proceeded to prop up the sign she'd been holding earlier, placing it in full view on the counter surface; giving England an apologetic glance, she pointed to the sign as if in reminder, before grabbing 'Nemo' by one of her cat ears and dragging her off into the back of the booth, hissing death threats all the while. 'Nemo' responded by laughing maniacally.

England looked at the bickering workers as if they'd just declared that they were here to proclaim France a virgin, Spain able to read the atmosphere, and Prussia to hate beer. Deciding that for what remained of his sanity, it was best to simply keep moving, he muttered a quick "Thank you and good-bye!" before walking off as fast as was considered polite.

Alfie and Gilbird, on the other hand, after being reassured that England was going to be ok (Alfie had been read several fantasy novels at England's house about mythical creatures, and was a bit worried at England might be turned into a vampire), had simply decided to focus all their attention on the plushie instead. Gilbird had even hopped into one of the plush's apron pockets and was snuggling into the handkerchief within, chirruping sleepily as he settled in for a short nap to recharge his 'awesomeness'. Alfie was simply content to look their newest 'huggable addition' over, making little cute noises every few minutes as it happily cuddled up against the rabbit plushie and let out soft, content purring.

The island nation, despite his foul mood from being bitten earlier, couldn't help but smile at the two tiny creatures. Humming softly under his breath, he quietly walked off into the crowd, letting the upbeat spirit of the festival lift his mood up like the lanterns hung high in the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BACK WITH THE BAD TOUCH TRIO~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three European nations were at their wits' end by this point. They were hot, hungry, thirsty, and tired beyond belief, and Prussia STILL wouldn't shut up about finding Gilbird. France was literally contemplating whether or not he should slap him with something to shut him up, but soon dismissed the idea, as he had nothing heavy enough to cause a good enough amount of pain. Spain, however, had learned from his occasional visits to (North) Italy's house about some of Japan's yearly festivals (the excitable, pasta-loving nation had chattered away for hours about all the fun the festivals were), and thus he remembered, after several hours of fruitless Gilbird-hunting, that the Tanabata Festival was going on. The prospect of some sake, hot food, and the chance to experience local culture (and perhaps flirt with the festival-cheered locals) all provided very good reasons in France and Spain's eyes to help keep Prussia upbeat (and give them a much needed break while they were at it.). Thus the three nations headed off into the celebrating crowds of Greater Tokyo, determined to take a break.

Of course, seeing as Gilbird was somewhere in this crowd with Alfie and England, chaos was sure to ensue upon the inevitable meeting.

**NOTE FROM CRYSTALXCHAOS (WHO IS NOT THE AUTHOR OF THIS FANTASTIC FIC!): Hey guys! Duuuddeee, you see how I totally invaded this fic? ^ ^ Wolfie is my rpc. Yes. It is awesome, no? anyway.. that's all I was gonna say. Haaha. MomotsukiNezumi says that the next chapter will be coming out soon, so stay posted. I will also be posting another fic of her's soon here. Anyway, for now, CIAO! :D**


	14. Chapter 13: Houston, We Have a Turtle

If any of the citizens and festivalgoers of Greater Tokyo's Tanabata Festival could predict that this particular celebration would go down in history as the only time that foreigners (the Bad Touch Trio and England, Alfie, and Gilbird) caused a citywide panic over a missing pet, then Japan's people would most likely either brush it off as an effect of too much sake and excitement from the festivities. Or, they may perhaps react in a similar manner to how most people who know the Bad Touch Trio would: run for the hills, hide in the nearest designated safe zone, and pray to whatever dieties are up there listening that no nation on Japan's land gets hold of any alcohol, or are left within 100 feet or so of each other without the host country's national gaurd on standby just in case.

However, as nations out to have a good time, this would be considered impossible. Poor Japan would be up to his elbows in paperwork for this incident for weeks to come...

~~~~~~~~~IN WHICH FRANCE AND SPAIN TRY (AND FAIL) TO THINK OF HOW TO CHEER UP PRUSSIA, AND PRUSSIA'S "GILBIRD" RADAR GOES OFF, WITH...INTERESTING RESULTS~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three European nations entering the festival grounds of the park were having mixed feelings: France and Spain were contemplating how to cheer up their depressed red-eyed friend (France was also thinking of hitting on the pretty lady in a pale blue yukata several few feet away, and Spain was dreaming about winning that really cute turtle plushie in the booth nearby to bring home to Romano), and Prussia...was being depressed. But this was normal since Gilbird had vanished. Prussia had gone into such severe "Gilbird-withdrawal" (as France privately termed it) that he hadn't made any "awesomeness" comments in over half an hour; even Spain, who was normally too cheerful and oblivious to tell what was wrong (unless it concerned Romano) could tell that he was close to having another breakdown. For their own safety, both of Prussia's friends were walking side by side several feet behind him, so as not to have their eardrums blown to hell when the inevitable cries of distress began.

Remembering that alcohol might cheer their friend up, France turned to Spain and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Do you see any booths selling food and drink? It might help our friend unwind if he has something to calm his nerves." The tomato-loving nation nodded, looking about; suddenly, a grin lit his face as he pointed towards a stall down towards the end of the row, where several bottles of sake were chilling in a tub of ice on the counter. "FOUND IT!", he proclaimed triumphantly.

"Found it? You found him? YOU FOUND MY GILBIRD?", shouted Prussia, turning around with a frantic look in his eyes. Grabbing his friend by the shoulders, he shook Spain back and forth like a ragdoll, yelling frantically, "VERDAMMT, SPAIN, WHERE IS HE!" France, seeing that Spain was experiencing some rather painful whiplash (replace Spain and Prussia with Japan and Italy during that imfamous car ride and you have what's happening), quickly took hold of Prussia's arms and pried him off a now rather dizzy Spain.

"Prussia, don't do that! He doesn't know where your little feathered ami is, so calm down, oui?", he hissed. "You're making a SCENE, and I don't think it will get anyone here to like us if you make so much noise that we get thrown OUT." The silvery white-haired man merely rolled his eyes, muttering something about 'idiots sending false alarms...' as he marched off in a huff, calling out every few moments for Gilbird.

France stared at is friend's retreating back, weighing his options: one, he could be a good friend to Prussia and keep helping him search (though he would be bored and have to deal with more of the Prussian's whining). Two, he could check on Spain real fast and ensure that the lovably dense Spaniard didn't suffer any permanent damage from Prussia's shaking (after all, if Romano's people were infamous for their organized crime (read: MAFIA...or the Godfather, whichever is preferable) and Romano rumoredly had LOTS of mafia connections, then he could be getting a bullet in either the brain or his beloved man-bits any time now). Or, three, he could risk his friends being upset at him by going off on his own and having a FUN time for once today. Hm, decisions, decisions...

Taking a deep breath, France decided to risk it. He had been dealing with Prussia's complaining, Spain's endless Romano-chatter, and a severe lack of wine, women, or fancy food all day. In the French nation's opinio, he deserved a break. A really, really big break. And wine, LOTS of wine (preferably aged by at least 15 years, and delivered by a pretty lady.).

Sparing a quick look at Spain, he was relieved to find the ditzy man unharmed, though he seemed rather off, wandering around in circles with a goofy grin on his face, muttering, "Hey, France, look at all the pretty lights! They're all shiny and bright and they're all glowing! LOOK, LOOK, LOOK! SEE! !..."

Giving his friend an uneasy smile, France began quietly walking off, calling over his shoulder,"Oui, Spain, I see the...glowing lights. Anyway, I'm going to help notre ami Prussia find his lost bird. If we find it, I'll call you on my cellphone and you meet us back at the park gates, d'accord?" Spain nodded and walked off in a somewhat off-kilter manner towards the booth with the turtle plushie he'd seen earlier. Several of the nearby festivalgoers were giving them slightly curious or confused expressions, though France thought this was due to Spain loopily singing (in a way that made France think his friend might have had his brain addled by the shaking) "When the whippoorwill, whippoors in the wind,the wind can whippoor back, oh nice and chubby baby!"

As he walked off through the sea of green, gold, burnt orange, pink, and amber yukatas, France couldn't help but wonder what England was up to. After all, the last time he'd seen the bushy-eyebrowed nation was when he'd hit him in the face while holding a strange white blob thing that looked strangely like little America...Perhaps the next time he saw him, they could talk about where he'd gotten the strange plushie creature? 'After all, the silly blob is most definitely fashioned after a certain American nation, now if only I could get zhat stubborn Briton to speak of just how he got ze strange plush...hmm, he's always sewing his stupid crochet doilies and tea cozies, maybe he sewed the little thing together and tried using that mumbo-jumbo garbage he calls magic to make it talk...'

Oh well, it wasn't as if he'd be seeing England any time soon before the meeting. He was probably back at his hotel room, shuffling papers and laying out a stuffy suit for tomorrow's meeting. After all, what were the odds of meeting the uptight Englishman HERE of all places? The very idea was absurd...

If only France knew how very, very badly he'd jinxed himself...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MEANWHILE, WITH ENGLAND AND OUR CUDDLY, FUZZY, FEATHERY FRIENDS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England was sure he'd never recieved so many stares from Japan's people before in all his visits. Everywhere he went, whether it was children toting goldfish bags, teenagers gossiping and handing each other stuffed animals, parents and friends walking sde by side and swapping stories, he felt the gazes of dozens of festivalgoers. The sandy-blonde wished he didn't stand out so much, but this was rather difficult since he was carrying around what looked to be several adorable plushies, and Gilbird (who had since migrated back to the the top of his hair to get a better view of all the food and pretty girls) wouldn't stop chirping in an attempt to be fed more delicious peach and mango dango bits. The fact that Alfie was purring away like a symphony of cats, and was also happily nuzzling the rabbit plush wasn't helping either.

"Well," he said to himself, "It's just for tonight, and besides, at least nothing seriously bad has happened yet..."

Fate REALLY did have a twisted sense of humor...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BACK WITH SPAIN, AND TRYING TO WIN A TURTLE PLUSHIE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spain, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the many strange looks he was getting from tourists and natives alike as he stumbled about in a rather crooked manner, trying to get to the booth with the turtle plushie. He may have only seen it once earlier (and from North Italy's rambles on souvenirs from Japan's festivals, it was almost sure to be pricey), but by the gods, he WOULD get it! 'It's the perfect thing for my little tomato', he thought, 'Lovi likes tomatoes so much, he's sure to like it, it's just so cute!'

Indeed, the turtle plushie itself looked more than adorable enough to satisfy anyone who loved 'all things cute and cuddly'. The stuffed turtle was of a modest size, proportioned to be roughly about the size of a fully inflated football; the little aquatic stuffed animal was covered in a thin layer of synthetic pale-green "peach fuzz", patterned here and there with a series of rather squiggly 'viens and scales' usually seen on real sea turtles. The plushie's back was covered in a comically oversized teardrop-shaped shell, made up of soft felt patterned with splotches in numerous shades of brown (mostly dark and milk chocolate, mocha, and coffee with cream.); this shell looked so large it seemed almost to wrap around the turtle like a sort of blanket. The flippers, covered in a particularly detailed series of interlocking 'scales', were soft to the touch, almost floppy, wth a little heart-shaped piece of velcro on the inside of each flipper. The reason for all this velcro was the round, baseball-sized stuffed 'tomato' (clad in shiny, scarlet, fuzzy velvet and stuffed with extra fluffy cotton, the 'tomato' was topped off with a haphazardly cut green felt stem.) clutched in the turtle's flippers (all four limbs were wrapped around it as if afraid to let go) like a much-loved toy. The turtle's eyes were the same shade as Spain's, but they looked out at the world in the manner of a tortured, somewhat dramatic actor, a way that declared "The world just doesn't understand me...so I don't like it."

In short, it looked rather like Romano as a child, after he had been told to clean their house by himself for the first time. Looking at the turtle plushie up close, Spain was almost sure he could see the ridiculously cute stuffed toy pouting at him.

Overcome with the sheer adorableness of the stuffed animal, the Spaniard walked up to the booth and asked to play a round. The two girls running the booth had mixed expressions: one had a look of both amusement and faint pity, as if sympathising with the somewhat dense man before her. The other was smiling in a manner that reminded Spain almost painfully of the day when his mighty Armada was burned to the waterline in the late 15th century...but it was just his imagination, right? Right?

Cat ears perked up, rather like a hunting hound's after scenting prey. "Hello, little conquistador," Nemo cooed softly, "Wanna play a round of ring toss?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WITH PRUSSIA~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Far away on the other side of the maze of booths and stalls littering the park like a crazed patchwork of wood and string lights, a certain Prussia shivered in rarely felt fear. 'Hope it's just paranoia, but something feels unawesomely creepy on the horizon...why do I have the feeling Spain went and did something stupid again...!'


	15. Chapter 14: Don't Mess with Me!

England tore off the last chunk of peach dango, offering half to the little yellow bird sitting atop his choppy hair; Gilbird let out a chirrup of happiness and promptly seized the dango in his beak, devouring the sugary morsel with a savage glee. Alfie had fallen asleep by now, the rabbit plush having tipped over sideways so the ears covered the top of the little mochi's body like a sort of blanket. Soft snores were audible from the tiny blob as it slept in England's arms, cowlick fluttering a little with each inhale and exhale. The island nation sighed softly in contentment, feeling relaxed and happy among the soft lantern lights and ebb and flow of the bustling, cheerful for England, the peace was not to last. There was a sudden rumbling noise in the distance, like the far off pounding of numerous pairs of feet running in a stampede. The surrounding crowds of festival goers started muttering to each other and backing away, as if sensing danger approaching. The sandy-blonde grew worried and took shelter behind a nearby stall, Gilbert hopping down from his hair in order to take refuge in the yukata folds covering the crook between England's neck and shoulder. Alfie, having been woken up by the noises of worry from the dispersing throngs of people, sleepily blinked its large blue eyes and mumbled "What's goin' on?" England quietly shushed it, crouching behind the stall counter and peering out warily at the rapidly emptying road. The rumbling grew louder...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WITH SPAIN AND HIS NEW TURTLE PLUSHIE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In truth, Spain wasn't quite sure when everything had gone wrong. He had paid for a round of ring toss, thrown the rings, and got a high enough score to pick a prize out. He had, of course, asked to receive to adorable turtle plushie, and had been about to receive his prize when all hell had broken loose: France had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, clothes dirtied, sake-stained, and ripped rather viciously in several places. His beloved, well-groomed hair, which had been rendered rather frizzy earlier by the summer heat, was now drenched, limp, and smelled strongly of sake. The terrified, wild look in his eyes alerted the usually oblivious Spaniard that his friend had been in serious trouble: the Frenchman looked as if he was trying to escape being hunted, and looking frantically for a nonexistent way out.

After several tense seconds of swiveling his head about in a furious search for possible escape routes, the frantic blonde spotted Spain and promptly grabbed him by his shirtsleeves, yanking him forwards and begging for help in a mixed stream of heavily accented French and English. 'But help from what?', Spain wondered, as he looked his friend over for any possible reasons to panic so much. 'What could have startled him to this point? He looks like someone tried to kill him or something! Did he try to hit on someone important, or married?'

The answer to this question was, as expected, a sound yes. Spain managed to learn, after several minutes of turning over France's rapid pleas for help in his head, that his friend had found a group of very attractive foreign tourists at one of the Tanabata Festival's sake booths. As he would with any other group of pretty women, France immediately went to smooth-talking the ladies present, complimenting them on their eyes, clothes, handbags, and other such things. This was normal for the romance-loving Frenchman. What was not normal was the fact that he'd (unknowingly) began hitting on several women here on holiday with their respective others; worse, their respective others were the other men and women who'd arrived shortly after he did, and they were all VERY annoyed. The Frenchman had a total of 3 seconds to process the intensifying danger before, as Prussia would later recall with tears of mirth streaming down, "Booking it outta there like the Italies in search of the last pasta bowl on Earth!" He was pursued by the entire group of angered foreigners, who had armed themselves with emergency pepper spray and several bottles of (thankfully empty) sake, and were now intent on seeking out the French personification and giving him a swift lesson in decorum by beating him into little more than a bloody pulp on the sidewalk.

This was five minutes ago. Now, Spain knew that as a fellow Bad Touch Trio member, he had to help hide his friend. But as a man, it would be better to just hide himself, and thus avoid injuries caused by angry foreigners hoping to pound France's head into the dirt. Hmm, decisions, decisions...'On second thought, maybe I should just go...', he thought, hearing the approaching stampede around the corner. France let out a dramatic wail of despair, grabbing fistfuls of his drenched hair in his hands as he prepared for the end. Spain turned to the two girls at the booth, scooping up his turtle plushie in one arm as he asked, "Can mi amigo and I stay here and hide? He's in a bad fix and hit on two many girls at once and now their friends are mad at him and I need to help him or I'll be a bad amigo and-" The rambling Spaniard was cut off mid-rant as there was a sudden cry of "There he is! The pervert's over here! Let's get 'im!" A sake bottle flew through to air towards them. Spain ducked. The two girls at the booth grinned at the two nations, before promptly putting up a "Sorry, we're closed!" sign up on the counter, shutting the booth curtains closed, and turning off the stall lights. France and Spain looked at each other, silently asking "What now?" The footsteps got closer. The two ran for their lives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WITH PRUSSIA AND HIS SEARCH FOR GILBIRD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prussia was bored. This would normally be a problem to those who knew him, since a bored Prussian is never a good thing for anyone's health, sanity, financial status, or beer supply. But seeing as most of the people around him didn't know him, Prussia felt justified in being bored. Why wouldn't he be? He had been combing the area all day, searching frantically for his lost bird companion, but neither beak nor feather of his little yellow friend had been seen. This worried him; what if someone had tried to cook him for bird's nest soup? Or catch him as an exotic zoo specimen? Or what if he'd been caught and sold as some run of the mill pet for a kid that didn't even know how awesome he was?

Clearly, Prussia wasn't thinking very clearly, since he would have otherwise realized that Gilbird would not be sold as an exotic zoo specimen (he looked too much like a rather plump, adorable yellow canary to humans, and thus too ordinary for a zoo exhibit), or cooked as part of the bird's nest soup dish (that dish required an entirely different species of bird, and even then it was the bird's nest, not the bird itself, that was cooked and eaten), or sold as a child's pet (Gildbird loved being Prussia's pampered pet far too much to consider being lowered to the less-awesome status of some else's companion (the only exception being England, though Prussia didn't know this yet). But Prussia wasn't famous for rational thinking. He was famous for his fighting, his beer-drinking, his teasing of Austria and arguing with Hungary, his self-proclamations of awesomeness, and, perhaps most importantly, his love of the little yellow fuzzball of a bird known as Gilbird. So Prussia could be entitled to a bit of irrational thinking.

Granted, he knew he would find Gilbird eventually (the bird wouldn't die until he did, he was sure, and he knew Gilbird would home in on him one way or another, or vice versa), but that didn't mean he wasn't worried. He'd had Gilbird since the little bird was nothing more than a tiny little white egg, and he'd cared for Gilbird better and Germany did his own dogs: he'd kept the egg warm, watched Gilbird's hatching himself, and subsequently had primped and pampered his beloved friend ever since. The little creature had nuzzled his neck and nested in his hair for centuries, chirping in greeting upon meeting Prussia's emperors, pecking and clawing at the eyes of his enemies in battle, cheeping lullabies to him to help him sleep after his land become downgraded from a country to the land known as East Germany...'Verdammt, now's not the time to be getting all emotional!', Prussia thought angrily to himself. 'I can get all mushy and crap later, after I've found him. Maybe I should call France and Spain soon, they might have had better luck than me. In the meantime, I need to find some beer to help keep me going...' The silvery-haired ex-nation headed off in search of his drink, hoping inwardly that he'd be reunited with his longtime avian friend soon. Dimly, he registered a faint rumbling in the distance, followed by frantic screaming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ENGLAND, ALFIE, AND GILBIRD MEET AN ANGRY MOB~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

England muttered several shield charms under his breath as he peered out from behind the counter; he could make out faint dust clouds in the distant road beyond the stalls, with shadowy figures hurtling through the dust like the fabled Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The island nation wondered what had caused such an oncoming rush of people; a fire, perhaps? 'No, not a fire', he decided. 'There'd probably be sirens from oncoming fire engines sent in to put out the flames, but I don't hear any sirens, just screaming...wait, screaming?' England blinked in confusion. He knew those voices, he'd heard them grating on his eardrums for centuries. But just what were the Bad Touch Trio doing here? 'Those idiots better not have started anything stupid...', he thought. 'Poor Japan's got enough to deal with as it is without them mucking things up in his country...'

Sadly for England's hope, and for Japan's paperwork and health, this was not to be. England stared in shock, eyes wide with disbelief at the insanity before him, before diving under the counter. Gilbird hid under the yukata folds, chirping worriedly; Alfie quivered against England's chest, cowlick drooping and eyes wide with fear. The people present saw a large crowd of angry, screaming (and in some cases, swearing) tourists waving pepper spray aerosol cans and empty sake bottles, chasing frantically after a rather strange pair of men, one a brown-haired, rather ditzy-looking man clutching a stuffed turtle plushie by a flipper, the other a dirty, hysterical man wearing designer clothes that looked as if they had been attacked with a weed whacker and then put in a blender for good measure. Both men were shrieking for help in a mixture of French and Spanish; it seemed that, due to their panic, neither could remember to call for help in English or Japanese. England peeked over the counter to better assess the situation. 'Wait, there's the frog and that ditz Spain, but where's the third one? Don't this lot do things in threes? I'd have thought they'd drag Prussia into this somehow, but I don't see him...'

This was also answered several seconds later. Prussia walked into roadway with a large bottle of imported beer in one hand and an annoyed expression on his face. England guessed that he'd been unhappy with the import tax on the alcoholic beverage. A moment later, annoyance changed to surprise and horror, as the ex-nation caught sight of the oncoming mass of angry tourists and two screaming nations. "Oh sh-" BAM. Prussia was knocked over by his two panicking friends, who grabbed hold of his shoulders and began yelling for help. "Pruisse, j'ai besion de votre aide! Les touristes sont furieux à moi!" "Prussia, help us! France hit on a bunch of foreign women and they're REALLY mad!" A dark shadow engulfed the three nations, who looked upwards and saw the angry faces of the surrounding mob. Two words resonated in the minds of the Bad Touch Trio as they faced their opponents: "Uh-oh."

For the next ten minutes or so, England alternated between wincing or smirking at appropriate moments as he watched his fellow nations receive a rather strong roughing-up. Gilbird, who'd recovered enough of his bravery to observe as well, stared sympathetically at his master. Alfie merely wondered how it was possible for the three men to achieve such painfully high soprano voices after a strong kick in the vital regions.


	16. Chapter 15: To Have, Hold, and Hit

When the crowd finally dispersed some time later, and the angry tourists left in a jubilant group toting their pepper spray over their heads in victory, the Bad Touch Trio were left in a bruised and battered heap on the hard ground. France, his body feeling much like one very large bruise, had been reduced to muttering dramatically about his ruined hair and clothes, Spain emitting the occasional whimper of pain (he had received a particularly strong hit to his (thankfully thick) skull and thus had a lump the size of an egg on one side of his head) as he clutched his stuffed turtle to his chest for comfort. Prussia, on the other hand, had somehow managed to get up (he would later claim his 'awesomeness' helped ease the pain) and was looking around for his beer bottle, which had been knocked from his hand in the earlier scuffle. He hoped that it wasn't broken, that beer had been rather expensive. The tourists who had witnessed the fight had broken up and left, though passersby would offer occasional words of comfort to the three men as they passed, and owners of several nearby food stalls had been sympathetic enough to offer some ice wrapped in paper towels and plastic bags as substitute ice packs for their numerous injuries. France had gratefully accepted a makeshift ice pack and held it gingerly to his left arm, where several large bruises were turning an ugly shade of yellowish green. Spain, pressing his own ice pack to the lump on his head, was thanking the person who had given it to him in a rather long burst of Spanish (the man listened politely and nodded in acceptance; sadly he didn't understand any of Spain's proclamation of thankfulness, but he understood the sentiment well enough). Prussia ignored the offered ice, opting for a replacement beer instead.

~~~~~~~~WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE, A BIRD AND HIS PRUSSIAN ARE REUNITED!~~~~~~~~~~

Gilbird peered out at his master from the warm safety of England's yukata, his big black eyes alight with worry as he saw the run-down state Prussia was in. Though he was still somewhat annoyed with Prussia, Gilbird knew his master was in a very sad state right now, so he could forgive him...just this once...for leaving him on the sidewalk to go talk with the long-haired, stinky-smelling person called France, right? It was a moment of temporary idiocy, right? Besides, Prussia was his very oldest friend, the nation who'd raised him from a tiny, fluffy hatchling to the strong, proud bird he was today. He'd fed him, sheltered him, played with him, let him nap in his hair, and claimed that Gilbird was even as 'awesome!' as Prussia himself. The years and years of love and care couldn't just be erased by a single moment of stupidity...England looked at Gilbird, noting the longing in the bird's eyes to go comfort his battered Prussian. "If you want to go to him, you can," he said quietly. Gilbird's gaze turned to England, as if to confirm that it was okay to go. "It's alright," the sandy-haired nation continued, "We both know Prussia will fall to pieces without you." The little yellow bird chirruped softly, before fluttering out of the yukata folds and giving a quick nuzzle to England's cheek in thanks. Gilbird chirped out a farewell to Alfie, whose large blue eyes watered with sadness at seeing its friend go. "Be...be s-sure to come visit, 'kay? I'll miss you lots!", the mochi said, cowlick quivering as it turned large, doe-like eyes pleadingly to the departing avian. "Yes, please do," England said, acid green eyes softening as he too looked at Gilbird, "I know you can't always come visit, but this past day or so with you has been quite enjoyable, and I'd hate to not see a new friend again. Alfie will miss you too, so be sure to pop in sometimes to see us, alright?" Gilbird nodded, a little yellow wing rising in a quick, affirmative salute, before flitting away towards Prussia. Gilbird darted out into the crowd, black eyes fixed determinedly upon the silvery white-haired nation despondently drinking from his new bottle of beer, ruby eyes lacking their usual fiery luster. France and Spain were leaning side by side against the counter of a nearby food stall, clutching their ice packs to various aching body parts and saying repeatedly that "It huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts...".

Suddenly, the beer bottle dropped from Prussia's hand as his sullen expression vanished, to be replaced by a look of dawning hopeful surprise. "G..Gilbird?", he said quietly, as if hardly daring to believe it. He whipped his head around, looking around frantically as he strained his ears, trying hard to see if he could hear that achingly familiar 'Piyo!', or if he was somehow hearing things. But no, this time he could really hear it, a shrill whistling in the distance, slowly getting closer and closer and closer until the sonic 'Piyo!' was tangible in the air, hanging like the sound of the resonating vibrations of a gong that had been struck...France and Spain looked around in surprise, trying to pinpoint the source of the 'Piyo!' and see if it really was Gilbird; it wouldn't be good for Prussia to get his hopes up, only to have them fall again. Spain wondered if clapping his hands over Prussia's ears and claiming that there was a teakettle shrieking somewhere from the food stalls nearby would suffice as a sufficient excuse...Thankfully for Prussia, it was really his treasured little friend. 'Piyoooooooooooooooooooooooo!', chirped Gilbird, flying rapidly towards his master, little wings beating faster and faster in his effort to get back to his oldest friend in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~*CUE THE CHEESY, OVERDRAMATIC REUNION MUSIC SEQUENCE!~~~~~~~~~~

"GILBIRD!", Prussia shrieked happily, running forwards to grab hold of his little avian friend. "PIYO!", chirped Gilbird happily, flitting towards his longtime caretaker. He crashed into Prussia's chest, chirruping rapidly. Prussia's eyes were suspiciously wet, as he gently stroked Gilbird's fuzzy head with his fingers, marveling over the fact that he was back, safe and whole, and looking quite smug to boot. Prussia and his little bird buddy were together again. France and Spain grinned, happy that their friend was no longer upset, and they set off as a reunited group once more, Prussia happily showed off Gilbird to his friends, proudly stating that "Gilbird's back all by himself!".

However, Spain, in a moment of insight, wondered why Gilbird looked so well looked-after when he, a pampered pet, had been missing from Prussia's care for hours. 'Surely in that time he'd at least be hungry and a little ruffled from his time alone, there's plenty of cats and dogs out there that might think he'd make a good snack or chew toy, and it's not like he's the biggest bird in the world...' "Hey, Prussia," he spoke up, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, I mean, I know you're really, really happy to have your little amigo back, but don't you think he'd be...well, a little more, you know, worse for wear?" Prussia, who'd been happily chattering away to Gilbird about all the things they were going to do together now that he was back, turned to look at Spain in surprise and slight anger. "What, you think that Gilbird's not awesome enough to survive out there on his own for a while? He looks fine!" Spain sighed, wondering how his friend could be so dense at the moment. "I didn't mean anything mean by that, I just said that Gilbird looks like he's in great shape for a bird that was missing for over a day, since you've pampered him to the point that he's not exactly the sort of bird I think would make it out in the world when there's so many things that could kill or eat him." France twirled a lock of his wavy hair around his fingers in thought as he pondered Spain's words. He had to admit, his friend did have a point. What DID happen to Gilbird while he was away from Prussia? He definitely didn't look like he had been having a bad time, after all...Perhaps he'd been found by someone, then caught and taken home as a cute pet, and somehow escaped? He knew Gilbird could pick locks (Prussia had somehow taught him so that if Germany locked up the liquor cabinet, he could get beer without being blamed for picking the lock with actual tools), so that might be a possibility...

"Gilbird could have been taken in by someone who thought he'd make a good pet, oui?", he finally suggested. "He IS rather mignon, so if a little child brought him 'ome to keep as a pet, he could 'ave stayed there for the night and escaped later..."Prussia shook his head, muttering denials; Gilbird wouldn't go off and be someone else's pet, that much he was sure of. "Maybe one of the other nations here for the meeting tomorrow found him. He IS pretty recognizable as my pet and all, so the could've taken him in for a bit. Mattie's pretty good at taking care of Gilbird when I'm hiding from West for drinking all our beer, so..." "Who?", Spain inquired. "Canada," replied France and Prussia automatically. "Maybe, but who was it?," Prussia muttered. "I guess I should say thanks, at least, for taking care of Gilbird." France, noticing the bird was slightly larger than before he had been "lost", poked Gilbird in the chest, causing the little yellow bird to fluff his feathers and chirp in warning, sharp talons stretching towards the offending fingers. France instantly drew his gloriously manicured hand away, stating curtly, "Well, whoever it was, zhey certainly made sure that 'e didn't starve 'imself." The silvery-haired nation hand Gilbird at eye level and peered closer, nodding slightly. "Yeah, you're right Franny, Gilbird's been packing it on a bit. Who's been feedin' ya, huh? Who's been fattening you up?"

Gilbird, meanwhile, was getting rather fed up with the pokes and the smothering with attention; certainly, he was happy to be with his master again, but if he was going to be poked and prodded at and implied to have gotten 'fat', then he could just go stay with England for a while again. If he continued to be buried under an onslaught of attention and questions, then he could just slip away to find England while Prussia and his strange friends hit on the locals or drank themselves stupid again. At least the island nation was polite enough to respect his privacy (and was also nice enough to give him free food and water), and he also would be able to fulfill his promise to see Alfie again. The energetic little mochi had made a rather nice 'nest-mate', and good company for talking. Fluffing his feathers up in a gesture of annoyance, Gilbird turned around in Prussia's hold so that the nations faced his back instead. Prussia rolled his eyes at his pet, muttering under his breath that his pet 'couldn't take a joke for the life of him', before saying, "Well, FINE, Mr. Huffy. If you don't want to tell us, then at least mime who it is, or something relating to him or her, so we've at least got a clue."

Taking a moment to consider his master's words, Gilbird nodded in agreement. The little yellow bird flew out of Prussia's hands and headed towards a nearby drink stall, landing upon the rim of a recently poured cup of steaming green tea. "Tea?", Prussia asked, "You stayed with someone who drinks tea?". Gilbird chirped and nodded his head in confirmation. "Hmm, zhen he could 'ave stayed with ze Asian nations, like Chine or even ze 'ost country, oui?", France stated, looking pensively into the teacup. Gilbird shook his head in denial; he had stayed with England, after all, not one of the Asian personifications. China would have hugged him profusely and claimed him to be 'cute', Hong Kong would have stared at him and then left him alone, Taiwan would likely react similarly to China, South Korea would have declared that he had 'originated in Korea, da-ze!', and as for Japan, he would likely have been carefully caught and then taken to the nearest pet store as a possible escapee from the avian section. After all, Prussia didn't interact with the personifications of Asia as much as those of Europe, so he would likely have been thought of as an ordinary bird. "Well, if it's not one of them, who else do we know who likes tea?", Spain wondered, scratching his head in puzzlement.

All three men locked eyes as a proverbial 'light bulb' moment occurred. The answer was simple: England.

How often did they see the generously eye browed nation sitting at one of the World Meetings, sipping a steaming cup of Earl Grey as he gave a verbal tongue lashing to whichever nation had been foolish enough to insult him or his culture? The many times that England would sit with Japan at lunch breaks, sharing a teapot of freshly brewed green tea as they talked about world affairs, or the times when he's chased after America, threatening the younger nation with gory murder for insulting his favorite drink by referring to it as "that gross leaf water"...

Come to think of it, none of them could think of a time where they had seen England without any tea since he had been introduced to the drink centuries ago (the one and only time that the host nation had forgotten to include tea as part of the meeting's beverage selection, England (who coincidentally had already suffered that day from a headache and a large amount of paperwork) had a sort of 'midlife crisis' over the lack of tea and promptly reverted to the mindset of his pirate days, destroying several floors of the building with wild magic and scaring over a dozen nations into fainting, crying, or running out of the building screaming in fear; Spain in particular was affected very badly, as he was seen diving under the table, clutching a loudly protesting Romano to his chest for comfort, and muttering fearfully under his breath about his "poor Armada!".).

"So...ENGLAND took care of you?", Prussia said to Gilbird in disbelief. "And he fed you and everything?". Gilbird nodded. "I mean, how are you not poisoned or anything?" Gilbird, taking offense to this, pecked Prussia on the finger. "Ouch! Gott verdammt, why'd you DO that?", he hissed. Gilbird let out a stream of angry tweeting in reply. "Pruisse...I think zhat your petit ami wants you to say you're sorry for insulting Angleterre...", interjected France, staring at Gilbird in surprise. Prussia stared at France, giving him a look of confusion. "It was just a joke, come on! Seems that Gilbird's fine, so I guess Eyebrows did ok taking care of-OW! QUIT IT GILBIRD! OUCH!", the albino swore loudly, ruby eyes watering slightly in pain as sharp claws sliced several new cuts across the knuckles of his left hand. Gilbird looked on pitilessly, chirping in a manner reminiscent of someone clearing their throat to goad someone else into apologizing. "Ok, ok, he did an awesome job! Are you happy now!?", Prussia said, still clutching his shredded hand as he stared at his pet. Gilbird nodded in approval (he wouldn't admit it, but he had also clawed at Prussia's hand partly because of being forgotten on the sidewalk, and now that he had gotten revenge, all was right again.) and flew over to nest in Prussia's hair, reclaiming his 'throne' as if nothing had happened. Spain stared rather awkwardly from the sidelines, watching as Prussia took a bag of ice from a sympathetic-looking stall owner and pressed it against his cuts.

Clearing his throat as Prussia's glower of pain lessened with the numbing feeling from the ice, he asked, "Ok...now that that's done with, are you going to say thank you to Inglaterra for taking care of Gilbird?" Prussia sighed in a moment of self-pity, before asking Gilbird where England was. The little yellow bird flew up out of Prussia's hair fluttering in place for several moments as black eyes searched the nearby area, looking, looking, looking...Gilbird suddenly darted away, fluttering off into the crowd and out of view; Prussia leapt forwards and ran after him, Spain and France following at a slightly less frenzied pace.

~~~IN WHICH THE BAD TOUCH TRIO, AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, A BIRD, & A MOCHI COLLIDE~~~

England and Alfie had stayed until Gilbird was out of sight, before heading out from behind the counter and towards the next lane of booths; Alfie, who had become rather hungry by this time, began asking for food. The dango from earlier had long since ceased to be filling for either of began a search for some dinner, as it was well into the evening by now, and the food stalls were wafting out some incredibly enticing smells, in particular a food booth serving freshly made Okonomiyaki, a type of savory pancake dish Japan had shown him during a lunch break at a previous World Meeting. The smell of the hot food made the island nation's mouth water, and Alfie started drooling slightly. "Would you like some?", he whispered to the little mochi. Alfie nodded eagerly, big blue eyes shining with anticipation. "Uh huh, it smells soooooooo good!"

His mind thus made up, England headed to the booth and asked for a fresh plate of Okonomiyaki; to his delight (as he had become rather fond of this particular variant of the dish), the plate had been prepared as "Negiyaki", a thinner version of traditional Okonomiyaki with a generous amount of scallions. Grinning happily to himself, he took a pair of wooden chopsticks offered along with the dish, paid for the food, and walked over to a deserted tree some feet away. He sat down cross-legged in the soft, dewy grass, and then began divvying the meal into two parts for himself and Alfie. The little rice cake barely allowed itself enough time to squeak out a rapid "Itadakimasu!" before flinging itself at the hot food and munching away, England managing through sheer force of will to contain himself long enough to say the traditional prayer of thanks at a more sedate pace.

Just as they had finished up with their impromptu dinner (Alfie had gotten a bit of green onion stuck to the side of its face and was determinedly trying to get at the dangling piece of vegetable garnish with its tongue), England heard the familiar "Piyo!" that signified the arrival of a certain yellow bird. Judging by the rapid thudding of several heavy pairs of feet and increasingly louder European curse words, the Bad Touch Trio wasn't far behind him, either. The sandy-blonde man slapped his hand against his forehead in aggravation, wishing that he could have just ONE day of peace before a World Meeting.

Sadly, this wish would not come true anytime soon, as Gilbird flitted into view within moments, instantly touching down in the sandy blonde locks he had come to rather like, and chirruped in invitation for Alfie to come up and sit with him. Alfie jumped upwards immediately, hopping out of England's lap and heading up his arms, past his shoulders, and finally achieving victory as it nuzzled its much-missed 'nest-mate' in happiness. Meanwhile, Prussia (who managed to there first and thus missed being knocked over by France and Spain, as Spain had run so fast he'd tripped and fallen on France on accident) arrived to find a scene of, at least to him, immense shock and horror: his amazing pet Gilbird was sitting on someone else's head! Gilbird was sitting in ENGLAND's hair! That was unacceptable; the only person whose hair Gilbird should be using as a nest was PRUSSIA, dammit! France, who'd managed to detangle himself from Spain by this point, noticed the expression on his friend's face. In a show of brotherly sympathy, he got up and stood next to Prussia, putting a hand on his shoulder in sympathy as he said, "Sorry, mon ami, but it appears zhat he has left you for another man...".

Prussia's scream of indignant rage and frustration could be recalled by the people in the surrounding area as being heard for miles.


	17. Chapter 16: It BeginsdundunDUN!

If anyone had chanced upon seeing the meeting between these countries, a bird, and an animated Japanese dessert (self-proclaimed American heritage notwithstanding), they would have seen the ensuing brawl that occurred as Prussia lunged forwards, screaming German obscenities at the top of his lungs, ruby eyes flashing with an unholy fiery wrath not seen since the War of the Austrian Succession. France and Spain had each grabbed one of Prussia's arms, pulling backwards with all their strength as Spain frantically muttered placations to his angered friend. Prussia, however, was consumed with rage at seeing Gilbird's apparent 'betrayal' and merely struggled harder, appearing not to hear a single word Spain said and instead was reaching out pale fingers in an effort to either claw out England's eyes or strangle him, it wasn't really clear.

"Pruisse, stop, you're not going to get Gilbird back by being stupid!", France shouted as he tugged hard on Prussia's arm, digging his heels into the dirt to help stop the advancing ex-nation (inwardly, France also mourned his designer shoes getting covered in mud and dirt, he inwardly noted that he'd have to make Prussia get him a replacement pair later). Spain wondered if his friend was channeling the long dead spirit of an angry matador bull, as he was certainly making a valiant effort to charge at England and gore him, even if he had no horns to speak of.

Alfie, meanwhile, was feeling rather scared as it watched the angry red-eyed man run towards them, eyes gleaming with a murderous glint like the demons from England's scary story collection. The little mochi whimpered softly, hopping down from its nest of sandy-blonde hair and seeking refuge in England's arms instead, a place it felt it would surely be safe from anything scary. Gilbird gave a chirrup of reassurance to Alfie, hoping the little blob of gelatinous rice cake would understand that Gilbird thought Alfie was too awesome to get hurt. Even if Prussia's his best friend in the world, he wouldn't stand for anyone picking on Alfie!

England rapidly took note of the situation as he wove protective spells and shield charm after shield charm in the air around himself and his two tiny companions. "Protego maximus, Tutamen Tutaminis..." Alfie was trembling madly in his arms, and Prussia seemed to be an unstoppable hurricane force, unheeding of his friends' attempts to keep him from coming any closer. Gilbird's attempts to reassure Alfie were only half-working. 'Think, Kirkland, think. What's the spell for repelling enemies before they get too close...?' Prussia was closer now, shouting something about England stealing Gilbird, and the look in his eyes showed that the object of his anger was going to be in for many painful bruises. 'Come on, come on, what WAS it...!?'

Prussia had come close enough that England could see his own reflection in that angry red gaze, but it was not for himself that he worried, he knew how to defend himself after so many years as a nation, after all. Gilbird would be fine, Prussia wouldn't dare raise so much as a finger against his treasured pet and companion of so many years, and the little yellow bird had claws sharp enough to deter anyone else who tried. No, the one he was worried about was Alfie, sweet, sweet, innocent little Alfie, whose reflection in Prussia's rage-filled gaze was shown with a heartbreaking amount of fear. But...there was trust in that blue gaze too, trust that England would keep his little mochi friend safe from anything and everything scary that it couldn't face on its own. England couldn't break that trust, he really couldn't.

The spell came from his lips as if it was the only magic he knew how to cast. "EXTUNDO!", he shouted, hand thrust forwards, palm closed as if to slam into the attacker's chest and break bone. The result was explosive: Prussia was thrown back as if he'd been hit with something large and heavy. Hurtling backwards a dozen or so feet, he landed ungracefully in the grass and dirt, spraying vegetation several feet around him in a fine greenish brown mist. Spain and France, who'd been forced to let go of Prussia at the last 10 or so feet from England, were only sprayed with the shredded grass and dirt clods from Prussia's face first impact with the ground. England, deciding that staying to see if Prussia would get up would be bad for the health of himself and his two little friends, quickly walked away back towards the sea of people at the festival booths as Spain and France hauled Prussia up out of the dirt and started asking if he was ok.

Weaving his way through the crowds, England headed towards the nearest park gate, walking out of the lantern-lit glow of the festival and all its cheer, and towards his hotel room for a well-deserved sleep. As the festival finally closed several hours later and England, Alfie, and Gilbird had safely tucked themselves away in England's capsule hotel room, the Englishman prayed inwardly that tomorrow would be somewhat less chaotic. 'Although with Alfie and Gilbird to keep me company, perhaps it won't be so bad...', he mused with a soft half-smile, tucking both mochi and bird into the quilt for the night before falling asleep himself to a chorus of snores and chirps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE NEXT DAY: THE WORLD MEETING GETS SOME NEW FACES, AND MADNESS ENSUES~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The location of this year's meeting was the result of a group decision between both the countries and their leaders: in other words, the meeting place was decided on not only for its sanitation, good parking space, a well-maintained security staff, several well-rated hotels within driving or walking distance, and a brisk, productive atmosphere, but also because it was only a short ways away from several good foreign-food restaurants (this, somewhat unfortunately depending on how you look at it, included a McDonald's Drive-Thru), had many attractive workers (though they thankfully had been warned ahead of time to be respectful but wary about some of the more zealously amorous nations, France in particular was to be avoided), had caterers polite enough to be willing to pander to the tastes of any nation too lazy to go outside to get food, and also had sound-proof rooms so that the rest of the building wouldn't be affected by the chaotic cacophony of noise that always erupted with every World Meeting.

However, despite all these conveniences, this did not prevent England from coming to the meeting building earlier than he was required to arrive, as he could go over his notes and portfolio, have his tea and breakfast in peace, and, perhaps most importantly, smuggle in Alfie and Gilbird without anyone giving him strange looks or trying to detain him for bringing in unauthorized guests. Considering he was, as always, dressed professionally for this meeting (a neatly pressed charcoal grey suit, cufflinks, and tie, a white dress shirt, and deep brown loafers), and the suitcase full of documents in his hands, it would look indeed strange if the sandy-blonde nation arrived at the meeting with an animated rice cake and Prussia's infamous pet bird sitting on his head. So, an hour or so before the other nations were due to arrive, England sat, a cup of fresh green tea held in his hands, at the enormous conference table, several piles of notes, paperwork, and documents in neat stacks a foot or so in front of him. Alfie was curled up in his lap, sleeping peacefully and emitting the occasional "Hahaha..." of dream-induced laughter. Gilbird, who England had bought a large stick of dango in exchange for a promise to be good while the meeting was in session, was nestled against Alfie, munching away at the dango rather lazily. The three bizarre companions enjoyed the early morning tranquility, savoring the calmness of quiet companionship.

After about half an hour, England had finished his breakfast and tea, reviewed his notes, and refreshed his memory on the speech he needed to present for the meeting. Gilbird, being a bit of a gluttonous bird concerning sweets (the dango seller had put sesame seeds on the dango as a special order), had finished all but the last dumpling of dango, and, after a moment of careful consideration, nudged Alfie awake and motioned for the little mochi to eat the bright pink sweet. Alfie's sleepy behavior at being woken up instantly vanished at the sight of food, and it happily gulped the dango piece down, squeaking out a happy "Thanks, Gilbird!", although because its mouth was full of dango, the words came out sounding rather like "Fanks, 'ilbird!" Gilbird, thankfully, was more than smart enough to understand his friend's mumbles of gratitude, even if they were muffled by food. England chuckled softly at the adorable sight.

The morning bell chimed 8 o'clock, the meeting due to start within the hour. England wondered what he should do, given that he had half an hour of free time before everyone else came in to start ruining his day with squabbling. The generously proportioned whiteboard across the room, pristine and gleaming, caught his eye. The half dozen colored markers, pens, and whiteboard erasers assured him that he could sketch anything he wanted, and then erase all the evidence before the meeting started. 'No one would be the wiser, and there's not really anything else to do...'

Mind made up, England carefully scooped Alfie and Gilbird into his arms, pointing to the whiteboard in explanation. Alfie, who'd been shown drawings and sketches by England while living at their house as a way to understand the functions of different objects around him, understood instantly that England wanted to draw. However, it also wanted to draw; the doodles and scribbles that Alfie had done at home had made England very happy (despite having no hands to draw with, Alfie had, rather creatively, figured out that by holding a paintbrush or crayon in its mouth and dragging the tip across the page, it could make doodles, and England had been so impressed, enthusiastically drawing along with the little rice cake to produce some truly bizarre but fantastic-looking teamwork drawings). So, logically, England would be just as impressed, if not more so, if Alfie could draw on the whiteboard too, right?

"Can...can I draw with you too?," the little mochi asked, big blue eyes staring at England with a puppy-pout clearly shining. Feeling surprised and a little touched that his little mochi charge wanted to draw with him, England smiled softly at Alfie, uncapping a blue marker and handing it sideways to Alfie. The mochi chirped out a happy "Thank you!" before chomping down on the marker and hopping across the whiteboard slide, dragging the pen tip across the shiny white surface to create a long, uneven, squiggly blue line, rather like an airplane loop-de-loop. Gilbird, upon seeing his friend drawing scribbles across the whiteboard, promptly flew up to England, a claw held out in askance for a pen. England uncapped a shiny silver marker and handed it the little yellow bird, who let out a battle cry and swooped down on the whiteboard, flitting back and forth across the surface and peppering the white expanse with a multitude of silver dots, dashes, streaks, and lines, until the entire design looked like some sort of scrambled Morse code reading had combined with Braille.

England smiled softly, eyes shining with affection and mirth as he watched his two tiny friends work together to plaster the meeting board in color. Uncapping a green marker, he began writing in large block lettering "WORLD MEETING" in the center of the whiteboard, though he took care to ensure that he didn't interfere with Gilbird and Alfie's "artwork". Originally, the lettering was left alone, but as Gilbird pulled the cap off a red pen and began stabbing the area around the word "WORLD" to create big red splotches, and Alfie began hopping up and down in place to put little blue dots on the edges of the letters, England began to get more intricate. After all, there was no one else to see, so why should he care? The straight block letters gained loops and curls, long, elegant Gothic script blooming from the tip of the marker in a blossom of deep green ink.

So absorbed were the three in their artwork, that England did'nt even notice as other nations began to file into the room and seat themselves, only to gape and whisper and point at the whiteboard in shock as the generally grumpy, snarky nation drew on the whiteboard. The unusual behavior became so interesting for the other nations that almost no one noticed the little yellow bird and white blob of rice cake helping with the artistry. No on at least, except two nations; Japan, and oddly enough, Canada. The two rather quiet nations saw the two tiny creatures aiding in the drawing. Japan, although surprised, quickly took note that the tiny mochi he had sent to England not too long ago was currently hopping energetically around the whiteboard with a pen, dabbing blue specks across the white surface. Canada, who had been subject to his friend Prussia's ramblings yesterday around 2 in the morning from an accidental cell phone call (he'd gotten so upset at Gilbird leaving again (and getting beaten into the dirt by a protective Englishman), that he drank several bottles of imported beer, downed a cup of sake, and then proceeded to rant drunkenly to France and Spain about all the revenge he'd seek on England "and his little dog, too!" (though by this, he surmised it was probably something else, that "something else" he now saw was the mochi) for "stealing Gilbird from the awesome *hic* me, ver*hic*-verdammt!").

The noise level, as always, was impeccably loud, but the chatter generated over England's previously unseen artistic skills had Germany's usual meeting-induced migraines acting up. "EVERYONE, SHUT UP!", he roared, temporarily silencing the room as he strode over to England, demanding, "What are you doing that is getting everyone so interested?" England, shocked out of his drawing frenzy by the thunderous roar of Germany, straightened up, turning to face Germany as he replied, "My apologies, I was writing on the blackboard earlier, and as there was no one else who'd arrived yet, I decided to draw in order to entertain myself, and intended to erase the drawings once the other nations arrived." Ice-blue eyes surveyed the sandy-blonde man for a moment, assessing what had been said, before Germany told him curtly to take a seat. England promptly scooped up Alfie, Gilbird fluttering down to sit in his hair, as he strode over to an empty space at nearest section of the table, some nation being kind enough to have moved his suitcase and all its contents down to him.

As England seated himself in the comfortable straight-backed chair, he took note of who was seated on either side of him, and mentally groaned: to his right was France, grinning nastily at Germany's reprimand of England at the whiteboard, and to his left...America, who was currently drawing doodles of rocketships on the edges of his notes and humming some sort of Game show theme song from the 1950s.

"Oh Angleterre, I see you've brought your petit plushie of Amérique!", France said, in the manner of one speaking a very personal secret of someone else's. Hearing his name (or at least the French equivalent of it), America looked up from his spaceship sketches and stared at England with a curious expression. "Huh? Whaddya mean Artie's got a mini-me?"

England gulped. Just _how _was he going to explain this?


	18. Chapter 17: IT'S SO CUTE, ARU!

Perhaps in England's case it was better that he wasn't able to answer America's rather bizarre question, because at that precise moment, China became aware of the presence of Alfie (the cuteness radar must have been going off the charts). There was as an audible intake of breath, and then suddenly China had somehow materialized by England's shoulder, shouting "IT'S SO CUTE, ARU!"

The sandy-blonde barely had enough time to process China's exclamation before Alfie was yanked out of the safety of his arms into the overenthusiastic hold of what could only be described as (despite the oddity of the term) a "fanspasming" China, who was happily pinching Alfie's cheeks and cuddling it against his chest as he made little declarations of the mochi's cuteness and promised to take it home and feed it lots of rice and roast duck and stir-fry. Alfie, to its credit, did not panic at being taken away from England at first, but as it became apparent that China wouldn't relinquish his grip anytime soon, the little rice cake became antsy and squirmed in discomfort, letting out a soft, unhappy squeak of "Want England…"

England himself was quite annoyed with China's sudden snatching of Alfie. That's _his _mochi, dammit! His mochi to talk to, and kiss goodnight, and read stories to, and keep safe from the scary world, and share breakfast with, his mochi to love and protect and cherish, _not _China!

"Ah_em_,," he cleared his throat, staring pointedly at China as he held out his hands expectantly. "That's _my _mochi, whom I'd like back right _now._" Acid green eyes narrowed, pinning China with a look that reminded those in the room distinctly of a _very_ angry pirate. From the other side of the table, Spain let out a choked whimper, recognizing the cold, dangerous look in that gaze. He could have sworn that for a second he could smell the sea, hear the _boom _of cannon fire, see the flames engulf his once mighty Armada…

The cutlass, coat, pistol, and hat may be gone, but England had not forgotten how to remind others of his pirate days by any means.

China stood there for a long moment, holding Alfie in his hands as he pondered the pros and cons of giving back the mochi to the clearly angry, overprotective Englishman in front of him. On one hand, Alfie was just so _cute, _so it was natural to want to keep the little rice cake, but on the other hand, England would, judging by the _very _unhappy expression on his face, come after after him and take Alfie back, and then make his life absolutely _miserable_, either by cursing him or, possibly worse, sending him his _food_...

Well, Alfie was certainly cute, but not quite cute enough to risk getting poisoned by England's cooking. Prussia had once sworn that he'd seen one of England's scones turn radioactive green and start _moving. _There was no way he would risk eating something like that, even if it was for something this cute! He may have made thousands of elixirs and homemade medicines and herbal remedies over the course of his long life, but even he hadn't yet figured out how to cure poiosoning from the bushy-browed nation's cooking...

In the end, Germany let out a resigned sigh and told China, in the tired manner of those who have had to solve such trivial disputes before, "Just give him back the mochi, China. That creature isn't yours, and if you keep it, England looks like he'd kill you for it. I'd prefer _not_ to have the meeting room damaged over a spontaneous World War Three breaking out..."

There were a few seconds of silence, before China let out a huff, muttering a slightly sullen, "_Fine, _aru, but next time I find something that cute, _I'm _keeping it, aru." He handed the little white blob reluctantly back to England's outstretched hands, though his eyes softened slightly upon seeing Alfie let out a happy yell of "ENGLAND!" and nuzzle his fingers, cooing softly in relief at being back home again. England smiled softly, patting Alfie gently, before settling back in his seat, the little mochi settled securely back in his arms and looking quite happy to be there, purring softly. China groaned internally, it was too damn cute...hmm, maybe if he asked the Englishman where he'd gotten it, he'd tell him where to find a mochi of his own that was even more cute...

America didn't know what to make of this. England, the grumpy tea-loving old man who hadn't even nagged at him for doodling all over his notes even _once _during this meeting, was sitting with Alfie in his arms, holding Alfie up to eye level and talking softly to it, smiling and occasionally letting out a soft, bell-like laugh at something the little mochi said in reply. Gilbird sometimes joined in on the conversation, chirping to either Alfie or England and shaking sometimes in shrill fits of tweeting laughter at something Alfie would say.

It was just so _weird_, like something out the Twilight Zone. Yet it was happening, right here in front of his eyes.

He chose to stubbornly ignore the small, upset part of him that was pouting somewhat sullenly at the fact that England didn't smile or laugh like that with _him. _Sometimes he'd get a chuckle, or a half-smile, but nothing like what that stupid rice cake was getting. What was so special about that thing anyway? What did that dumb white blob of cooked rice have that he, the great United States of America, Hero extraordinaire, didn't have?

What made that stupid mochi better than _him_?

Nearby, France grinned at the spectacle before him. Meetings always made the best soap operas, _non_?

Germany put his head in his hands and sighed in exasparation. Italy smiled softly at him, babbling about his day as he held the German's hand. Germany gave a small smile of thanks to his friend, perhaps this meeting wouldn't be _all _bad.

There was a sudden sharp crash from one corner of the room, and a shout of "Stupid Tomato bastard, stop hugging me!", followed by several crashes and bangs that were unmistakably from the breaking of numerous peices of furniture, likely some of the chairs.

...On second thought, perhaps this meeting would be _worse. _


	19. Chapter 18: The Anglo-Prussian Conflict

The meeting actually went on, to everyone's surprise, somewhat quietly for a bit after China had given back Alfie to England. Many of the usual events occurred: Greece slept through everyone's speeches, France attempted to grope or flirt with other nations, Poland, in all his fabulous pink glory, told Russia to stay away from Lithuania on the threat of making Warsaw his capital, and poor Canada went unnoticed, sitting in a chair in the back of the room, trying in resigned exasperation to get his pet polar bear Kumajirou to remember who he was _again._

However, several things did _not _occur as usual: China didn't offer anyone snacks from his country, Prussia didn't try to burst through the door and demand to be included (if only to help add to the chaos), Japan wasn't agreeing with everyone (so Switzerland wasn't threatening to hit him with his Peace Prize), South Korea wasn't shouting that everything originated from him, and America wasn't making his normal loud declarations of heroism and persisting that everyone else should follow his incredibly bizarre ideas. All in all, it was less chaotic than usual, and for that Germany was grateful. He wasn't _too_ relaxed, however, because he just _knew _that something was abut to happen. Something bad _always _happened when he didn't see his usual meeting routine.

The reasons for his unease were both sitting with England: there was, for one, that strange white blob that Japan had told him was a Japanese sweet called a "mochi", although Germany had never before heard of a sweet that could actually _talk _and _move _before...or have hair. The little thing seemed very attached to England, sitting in his arms and chattering away a mile a minute, cowlick bobbing up and down all over the place. For some odd reason, America seemed rather..._jealous, _if that could be believed, of the mochi, apparently because it had the most of an unusually placid and friendly England's attention. He kept sneaking annoyed glances in England's direction, an envious look in his blue eyes as he crossed his arms and huffed in apparent annoyance that he wasn't being given attention.

Italy thought the mochi was adorable, and had promptly turned large, puppy-dog pout eyes to Japan as he begged to get a real live mochi of his own "to take siestas with, and eat pasta with, and be best friends forever, ve!". Japan, upon receiving the full power of Italy's puppy-pout, had turned rather flustered, stammering nervously that the mochi had been made by accident and such an accident probably would be difficult, if not impossible, to recreate again. However, he did agree, upon seeing his friend's chocolate-brown eyes water with tears, that he and his people could at least _try _to make another one (though this time in a controlled environment so as to make cleaning up easier).

The other reason for Germany's unease was Gilbird, who seemed to have decided to hang around England and nest in his hair for the meeting. Germany knew very well that Prussia loved his tiny avian pet, and the fact that Gilbird seemed to prefer England's company (at least for the moment) meant that sooner or later, Prussia would to try to get his pet back... even if it meant crashing the meeting and starting a war over who got custody over the little yellow menace.

Even _thinking_ about the possible repercussions for his brother coming in and starting a fight were terrible: the other nations would undoubtedly join in, if only to feel included, relieve boredom or stress, or burn off excess energy, and then all hell would break loose. His mind's eyes, forever pessimistic, could already picture it: China would hit people with his trusty ladle and giant wok, Belarus would try to stab anyone near her big brother Russia with her _very_ sharp collection of knives, Japan would politely ask everyone to calm down, America would jump into the fray and try to stop it because he was a "hero!" (and end up punching several people along the way "for JUSTICE!"), Hungary would wield her infamous frying pan to protect Austria, Russia would emit his aura of _doom _and "accidentally" hit people with his metal faucet pipe, Switzerland would brandish (and possibly fire) his infamous handguns at people to keep them away from Liechtenstein, South Korea would use the chaos as an opportunity to try to grope China (and get yelled at and possibly hit over the head for his troubles), France would cower under the table and shield his hair (or follow South Korea's groping example), the Baltic trio would hide in an unoccupied corner and shiver in fear of becoming a casualty at the meeting, and Canada, as usual, would be ignored (though if being noticed meant being a potential target for other trigger-happy nations, perhaps being invisible wouldn't be so bad...).

The meeting room would end up in shambles by the end of the day, he could feel it. How on Earth would he be able to explain to the building owners why their meeting room was destroyed? Japan would get so much paperwork over the most likely soon-to-be-ruined meeting room, he didn't want his friend to become even more stressed, especially as he already had to contend with the paperwork involved in resolving the issue of those tourists that his brother, France and Spain had gotten into so much trouble with...

Germany sighed and and let his head fall against the surface of the table. 'Please, Gott, don't let mein bruder come in and destroy this room. I don't think Japan and I can take the stress...'

Looking up, he noticed a flash of silver from the tree outside the nearest window. Already, he could faintly hear German curse words.

'Verdammt, I jinxed myself.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~WHEN ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was about a minute after Germany realized that Prussia was outside that his brother finally managed to figure out how to get to the window. Unfortunately for the state of the building, Prussia had decided to get into the meeting room by throwing himself through the window, which had been closed in order to keep the air-conditioned air inside... headfirst. The window shattered under a direct impact from over a hundred pounds of determined Prussian, spilling glass everywhere on the floor and causing more than one nation to scream in shock. Switzerland pulled out a handgun and pushed Liechtenstein behind him. Prussia himself landed in a heap on the floor, twigs and leaves in his hair from his earlier tree-climbing. He let out a stream of swears, both at the sudden panful landing, and at a squirrel in the tree outside, which appeared to be laughing at his misfortune.

Seconds later, still muttering curses under his breath about how throwing oneself through closed windows was _not _awesome at _all, the _ex-nation got up from the floor, looking around rapidly as he scanned the room for his pet. Upon catching sight of Gilbird, who had decided to cuddle with Alfie in England's arms, he let out a yell of rage and pointed a pale finger in accusation at England, hissing, "_YOU_...!"

The room was silent for a moment, before England asked, rather dryly, "Yes, me. Pointing your finger at people is rather rude, you know, so please stop. What appears to be the problem?"

"You know very well _what_, you jackass!", Prussia shouted angrily. "Give me back Gilbird _now_!" England raised a rather large eyebrow in response, stroking Gilbird's feathery yellow head with his fingers as he said calmly, "Be quiet, you idiot. I didn't steal him, if that's what you're thinking. Gilbird wasn't happy with the way you and your crazy friends treated him, so he took off and found me. It was your own fault for being stupid."

Ruby eyes gleamed with a fanatical rage as Prussia lunged at England for the second time in two days, shouting that Gilbird must have been brainwashed and that he'd beat England into a bloody pulp for turning his pet against him. Germany let out a soft curse before grabbing the back of his brother's shirt and yanking the fabric backwards, causing the ex-nation to stop his attack in order to keep from choking due to the sudden cloth constriction around his throat.

"Verdammt, bruder", Germany hissed in annoyance, "I thought I told you to stay _out _of this meeting! Why are you even here? Who told you the directions to this building!?" Italy held up a hand nervously in response. Germany stared at his longtime friend in disbelief. Surely, not even _Italy _would be stupid or crazy enough to tell his crazy brother where the meeting room was...

Upon seeing Germany's look of shock and slight anger, Italy began to stammer rapid apologies in Italian, babbling out,"I'm really sorry, Germany, but your _fratello _promised me a bowl of pasta bigger than I am if I told him how to get here, ve!" Germany muttered a soft "Why me?" to the heavans, as he rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers in an attempt to relieve the rapidly returning headache coming on. Japan offered him a quick pat on the shoulder in sympathy.

The brief moment of freedom from Germany's iron-strong grip was all the time Prussia needed to get back to his previous goal of trying to retrieve Gilbird and get revenge on England at the same time. The sudden attack caused England to vacate his seat immediately, backing up several feet and aiming a punch at Prussia's face as he clutched Alfie and Gilbird in the crook of one arm. America, whose look of jealousy quickly turned to alarm at seeing Prussia try to attack his former caretaker, jumped up from his own seat and yelled "I'll save you, Iggy!", before trying to tackle Prussia. The other nations saw the rapidly escalating brawl and joined in. Germany's yells for order, for once, were inaudible in the sudden cacophony of noise, and Italy began waving his white flag back and forth, which he'd somehow pulled from God knows where. Japan merely sighed and began preparing a letter of apology to the building owner, knowing that the meeting room was well on its way to being demolished by what looked to soon be called "The English-Prussian War of the Gilbird Acquisition".


	20. Chapter 19: Ends Become Beginnings

When the dust finally cleared and Switzerland had stopped brandishing his handgun, the casualties were counted off by Germany's exasperated, but ever watchful eyes, listed in short as a mild concussion (Spain had received this, strangely enough, not from the actual fighting, but as a result of being hit in the head by an enraged Romano when he had, once again, foolishly called the Southern Italian "an adorable tomato!" and claimed he was going to protect him from all the scary fighting nations), several mild powder burns in the case of the Nordic countries (these were a byproduct of Switzerland, who'd fired his gun on accident when he was unexpectedly elbowed hard in the back by Hungary (who had been trying to elbow a nearby France in the eye for leering at a suitably unhappy Austria), multiple degrees of bruising (mostly France, who'd also tried to grope a rather nervous Ukraine in the chaos, and had been suitably punished by Russia and his trusty faucet pipe), a rather large bump in the head (South Korea, in his attempts to protect China's "chest" from any would-be gropers, had been hit over the head with a very embarrassed China's ladle), and a few paper cuts (Japan had been writing his letter of apology so fast he'd cut his fingers on the paper when folding the letter to put into an envelope). All weapons taken out during the fight (which included but was not limited to: Spain's battle-axe, Switzerland's multiple handguns, America's own personal giant gun, Hungary's infamous frying pan of _pain_, Russia's infamous faucet pipe of _doom, _France's groping fingers (which Germany ducktaped together to prevent any more fighting due to unwanted molestation of over half the present world), Prussia's assassin daggers from his first Emperor, and Norway's own battle-axe) were promptly taken into account and confiscated, to be returned, individually, to each nation once the meeting was over and they were each back in their respective countries.

The other unlisted casualties included many bruised egos, a few bumps on the head (when the contents of the conference table went flying upon Prussia crash-landing onto it after being tackled by America, the laptops, books and portfolios of over a dozen nations went sailing through the air and hit poor Canada, who was, in a moment of temporary clarity, brought an icepack by Kumajirou, who wanted to help "Whatshisface" look a bit less pained), and the loss of over a dozen I.Q. points when Germany managed to haul Prussia out of the wreckage of the conference table and hit him over the head with his fist in punishment for starting the fight in the first place. Prussia merely stated that he regretted nothing, except that he'd been unable to actually exact revenge on England due to America tackling him and thus almost breaking his spine from the weight imbalance. He immediately received another blow to the head, this time from America, who then went back to asking a slightly flustered England if he was ok.

Germany sighed. 'And to think, only an hour or so earlier, everything vas going so vell...'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SEVERAL HOURS LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When everything was over and done with, the nations filed out of the conference room to go get lunch. America waited by the doorway, seemingly debating something as he watched England pack up his briefcase. England was one of the luckier nations from the earlier skirmish, having not taken any actual damage from the earlier fight (America's tackling of Prussia, combined with England's own repertoire of black magic hexes and curses and the reflexes gained from years of combat, had ensured that England remained unharmed while hitting the other nations with spells that induced confusion, involuntary muscle movements (literally "Why are you hitting yourself?"), involuntary dance numbers (_Gay or European _had been a particular favorite), and the bizarre attraction of inanimate objects (_Oppugno_ had been an excellent way to keep away France, seeing as the books and papers strewn all over the floor, upon command, then flew into the air and chased after France, displaying multiple sharp, pointy book cover corners and paper cut-inducing pages).

Despite this, America felt this need to make sure England was ok. Sure, they didn't always get along, and the old man was sort of grumpy and liked old stuff and always complained that he had no manners, but he was still his best friend! He'd stayed over sometimes to keep America company on "scary movie night", and even if he always complained that the plot was stupid or the actors too unrealistic or that the special effects were awful, he'd never once failed to show up and let America use him as the equivalent of an oversized, slightly crotchety English teddy-bear to comfort himself with when the movie got too scary. He didn't even complain when America would grab his hand during some of the scarier parts, the parts with zombies dripping skin everywhere, and vampires with bloody mouths! He'd even come over when America got sick with a fever after trying to see if "singing in the rain" was as good as the movies claimed it was. He'd read him stories and taken his temperature and even made him homemade chicken noodle soup (which he'd been forced out of "heroic obligation" to eat, seeing as England would force it down his throat one way or another, and besides...England had given him such a _hopeful_ look when he'd asked him to eat it, and it was sort of, well, kind of...ok, _really_ cute on him!).

So it was ok to ask if he was ok, right? It was perfectly fine for America to wait up for England, and for him to feel kind of-sort of jealous since that blob thing was making England so freaking _happy_, right? Hmm...if he turned his head and squinted a bit, England didn't look _so _happy, so it was ok then, if he went over and asked him to go to lunch with him...just to see if he was ok, that was it! He was just doing his job as a Hero to make people happy, and England was included in the "people category", so it was fine!

Walking over to England, his mind thus made up and his self-assurances in place, America asked, "Hey, Artie, wanna go grab some lunch?"

England rolled his eyes. "My name is not Artie, you twit! If you have to call me by my human name, call me Arthur, for Pete's sake! And _why_, pray tell, would you want to go to lunch with me?"

The words were out of America's mouth as if they'd been ready for ages: "Because I like you, _duh."_

Silence fell for a moment, as both nations processed that little statement. England felt his ears burn. 'Wha..what did he just say...?'

America, always one for action instead of just talk, decided "Ah, to heck with it!", before grabbing England's hand and dragging him, mochi, briefcase and all, out the door.

"Hey, wait, you idiot, I need to think about this, stop!"

"Artie, don't be such a spoilsport, I want to actually _enjoy _this!"

As both nations left the conference building, England continued to bicker with America, but there was no real bite in it. It was nice to be wanted, after all. And if he didn't try to remove his hand from America's hold, neither commented.

Alfie, from its place lodged securely in England's arms, grinned. The whisper that the little mochi said to England nearly caused the sandy-blonde to trip over the curb in surprise, although his lips twitched upwards, ever so slightly, in a tiny semblance of a smile.

_"So...do I call him Daddy now?" _


	21. Chapter 20: Mochi Vote Time!

Considering the popularity of the 'APH: The Mochi Quandary!..." story, I was considering turning the story into a series of loosely related stories, each story revolving around the creation and life of a nation-mochi and its affect on the other nations, in particular those who its human counterpart are/were close to.

I already uploaded this as an official poll, but no one seems to notice anything I put on this site unless it's in story format...

So, will you vote for a nation to mochi-fy in another "APH: The Mochi Quandary!..." story? If so, please give me your input! Feedback is very much appreciated!

I've decided on the following mochis to be available, at least for the moment (I may add more later):

Spain (we all know Romano wants one, even if he won't admit it. And he comes with Tomato-sensing powers!)

Russia (I really want to make this one for Belarus, I feel rather sorry that she loves her big brother Russia so much but he doesn't return it, so if I give her Russia-mochi she can have Russia!...sort of. And the human Russia can be reasonably safer from the romantic advances of Belarus!)

Belarus (Liet can have one to love, without having the danger of his fingers being broken!)

Poland (Since a Poland mochi is like, the coolest thing ever! And can give the best fashion advice in the universe.)

France (This way, he can get close to all the nations he hasn't molested yet, without being beaten up because he'd be too cute!)

Germany (The only sqaure mochi I know of, and one that can act as Italy's alarm clock for training for when the real Germany needs to keep Prussia in line!)

South Korea (This way, South Korea can be close to China, because we all know China likes cute things!)

Either one of the Italies (or both, depending on how many people want them)

Hungary and Austria (these two, being married for so long, I had to make in a pair.)

Canada (Please pay some attention to this mochi, he really deserves to be noticed as the sweetie he is!)

Prussia (VITAL REGIONS. WILL. BE. SEIZED.)

Please PM me if you want me to write about one!


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